


Perception

by Rosella92



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Homophobic Language, M/M, Swearing, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-03-08 05:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 47,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13451238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosella92/pseuds/Rosella92
Summary: After Detective Sergeant Greg Lestrade has a run in with a petulant, unusual boy named Sherlock Holmes, he finds himself curious about the boy's brother, Mycroft. When they do meet, Mycroft is nothing like Greg expects, and Greg suddenly finds himself falling for the strange, brilliant man who can read him like a book.





	1. Chapter 1

"You don't talk much, do you?"

The boy stared back at Greg with piercing blue eyes. He was an interesting character, with dark curls past his ears and clothes straight out of GQ. He hadn't said a word since he got picked up.

Greg took his gaze away from the rearview mirror and sighed. Detective Inspector Nick Spalling had already spent a ridiculous amount of time talking to the group of boys they found a few minutes ago, huddled outside the nearby public school and exchanging a joint, but this one was the only boy who hadn't nervously stammered through excuses. In fact, the boy hadn't said a word, even when they coaxed him into the backseat of the police car.

Instead, he watched. Those clear blue eyes looked everything and everyone over. Greg felt a bit like a bug under a microscope under his gaze. 

The silent stares had unnerved Nick, but then again he was fairly high strung. He was outside now, pacing and finishing his last cigarette. His angry command of " _You_ try talking to the little fucker" still rung in Greg's ears, along with the door slam that accompanied it.

A quiet teenager was a rare thing, but there was something in way this boy carried himself, like he was ready to sprint away like a jungle cat...Greg saw an outraged, frightened young man.

"All right." Greg watched Nick puff on his cigarette and cleared his throat. "Well, I'd say your friends are going to be in a lot of trouble but those weren't your friends. You watched us when we pulled up, whereas they all looked at each other. Plus they were covering for each other, and you've not said a word." Greg turned around, encouraged by how the boy's eyes seemed to widen. "They're older too...around seventeen, eighteen. You're what, fifteen?"

The boy's eyes took on a delighted glint. He nodded. It was the first response they'd gotten out of him. 

Greg smiled. "All right. So you're with these guys, but they're not your mates. And I'm betting if we tested you, you'd be clean. You didn't smoke the joint, but you were watching them smoke it."

That got an eyebrow lift.

"Doesn't seem like you're all that interested in becoming their friend, so...why hang out with them? Is it boredom?"

And _that_ got a wry smile.

Greg smiled. "Well. We do funny things when we're bored, right?"

The boy might have replied but then Nick stomped back to the car and flung the door open. "Okay, fuck this. Let's take this one home. I'm tired and done with this goddamn evening."

Greg gritted his teeth together. At twenty-four, he was still seen as a kid in the eyes of the department, and his inpector was clearly not a fan. Greg had risen fairly quickly in the ranks, making good marks and passing physicals without a problem, but this only seemed to invite more scorn from his superiors. He got taunts about his eagerness, his lack of experience, even his looks. Nick was a bit of a bastard, but at least he wasn't one of the group of people who called him "pretty".

Nick dropped himself into the driver's seat, making the car shake. He slammed the door closed and glared at the boy. "Give us the address, then."

Unsurprisingly, the boy just stared back at him.

Nick turned and snarled at him. "We don't have all fucking night. Your home address. Now."

Greg watched the boy stare back, and knew he had to cut the tension. "How about this? We'll start driving, and you give us directions as we go along. No stopping on the way, but you tell us where to go."

The boy's gaze softened. Nick saw this and snorted. "Lestrade, you will go nowhere in this fucking job." He turned and started the car. "Kid, you take us to where we can meet your parents. Now."

At first the boy just sneered, but then his features relaxed. "Knightsbridge," he murmured, settling back against the seat.

Nick snorted again. "Posh little tosser. Figures."

Greg's hands clenched into fists, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned around, but the boy was staring out the window. He looked bored.

×××××××××××

They got to an empty car park in the middle of a scattering of shops and cafes. An art museum loomed in darkness a block away. Greg wasn't too familiar with the area, but it looked to be far above his and Nick's pay grade.

Greg got out before Nick so he could open the door for the boy, trying to maintain a cautious sense of friendliness, but Nick pulled himself out of the driver's seat and shouted over the car. "Didn't want us to drive up to your house? We'll all walk to your front door. You're not sneaking in, you little bastard."

The boy smirked.

Nick stomped up to him. "Take us to your parents right fucking now."

"Very well." The boy turned and began walking toward a small park just past the car park. 

Greg followed quickly, wondering what sort of angle the boy was going for. Nick was close behind, cursing under his breath. Quickly Greg realized that they were not in a park - they were in a cemetery. 

The boy stood in front of two headstones, his hands in his pockets. 

"What in the bloody fuck kind of a joke is this?" Nick sounded appalled. 

"It's not a joke," Greg mumbled. "You said for him to take us to his parents." He gestured to the headstones. "Here they are." 

The boy nodded slightly, his gaze low. 

Greg looked at the headstones. His parents had died the same day, two years ago. They were close in age, mid fifties. They'd had the boy at a later age, possibly a surprise baby. William and Victoria Holmes.

"I'm sorry about your parents," Greg said softly.

The boy didn't move or acknowledge him.

"Your last name is Holmes...how about your first name?" Greg prodded.

That got a sigh. The boy turned to Greg and leaned closer. "Sherlock" he murmured.

"Sherlock" Greg repeated, and smiled. "That's a different name. I like it. I am sorry about your Mum and Dad, but we need to know where you live. Not on your own, I'm sure. With a relative? Aunt? Uncle?"

Sherlock sighed. "I live with my insufferable brother."

Greg did a mental fist pump of victory at getting the boy to speak a full sentence. "All right, how about we contact him? Let him know where you are. I'll bet he's worried about you."

Sherlock scoffed. 

"I am _done_ with this fucking night." Nick kit another cigarette. "Let's get this brat to the station. His brother can pick him up. I don't fucking care."

×××××××××××

When they got back to station, they got Sherlock into Nick's office. Greg immediately handed him his mobile phone. "Here. He might see that you're calling from a police station and panic. This way you can ease him into it."

Sherlock looked surprised. He took the phone and seemed to examine it. 

Greg laughed softly and pointed at the background photo. "That's Diane, my girlfriend. We were having coffee at this cafe she really likes. I just took the picture of her while she wasn't looking, just goofing around, you know. Being silly."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I see."

"We'll give you some privacy." Greg left the room and closed the door. 

"You're something else." Nick watched him with his arms crossed. "I can see keeping him away from everybody. The kid's fucking weird. But giving him your own _phone_ , Lestrade..."

Greg chose to ignore his insult about the boy - he was different, but not a creep. He stood next to Nick so he could keep an eye on Sherlock. "This way I can have a record of his brother's phone number."

"Unless he erases it."

"He won't." Greg watched with fascination as this extremely withdrawn boy became animated. His face contorted with irritation and disgust as he began to pace in front of Nick's desk, muttering into Greg's phone.

"Oh yeah?" Nick jeered. "How do you know _that_ , Lestrade? Got a theory in that pretty little head of yours?"

Greg suppressed a sigh. So much for having at least one person in the department not call him that. "He trusts me. If he gets into trouble, I would have a way of contacting this brother of his."

"Just you, because you're Prince Charming." Nick snorted. 

Greg might have replied, because there was no way in hell he was going to live with _that_ as his nickname, when Sherlock slammed his fist on Nick's desk. A few nearby officers jumped in surprise and watched as Sherlock began flailing, shouting something that sounded like "obscene invasion of my private life" and took the phone away from his face, staring at the floor. He was practically vibrating with anger. 

"Christ. He's a fucking lunatic." Nick shook his head. "Let's get in there before he breaks something."

"Ah, sir? Maybe I'll go in there by myself. Get him to calm down." Greg tried to give him a small smile, hoping he looked harmless.

"Fine. Have at it, Prince Charming."

 _Shit._ Greg opened the door and stepped inside the office, closing it after him. Sherlock didn't move. 

"Okay, you spoke to your brother. Sounds like he gave you a hard time." Greg cleared his throat and stood next to Sherlock, who was staring at the floor. "I'm guessing he's on his way?"

"A driver has been sent" Sherlock muttered. 

"Oh, a driver! You _are_ posh. So, your brother isn't coming here?"

" _No_."

"...Oh." Something was off. "Why not? I'd come to pick up my little brother anywhere, even a police station. Hell, especially one. Even if I was bloody furious with him."

Sherlock scoffed. "You are an only child, and therefore are incapable of fathoming the intricacies of the relationship between myself and my brother."

Greg raised his eyebrows. "That is true." He held his hand out and Sherlock handed him his phone. "I think I should talk to him."

"If you were to call the number I just dialed, it will either be disconnected or it will not be answered. Also, my brother has made it _quite clear_ that he will not be in the car sent to procure me."

"All the same." Greg put his phone in his pocket. "What's your brother's name?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why?"

"I'm curious. I'm a curious guy." Greg grinned at him. "Sue me."

Sherlock snorted. "His name is Mycroft."

"Mycroft! _That_ is a cool name. You two are lucky, I'm just plain Greg." 

"Yes, we are extraordinarily fortunate." Sherlock stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Mycroft has told me that I must be in front of the station when the driver arrives or there will be a rather unpleasant phone call made to this station."

"Let's go, then." Greg led him past an eye rolling Nick and toward the front door. Some officers gave them curious stares, but everyone left them alone. They walked past the entrance and stood outside in the dark warmth of the summer air. 

Sherlock seemed like he was ready to retreat back into silence, so Greg knew he had to get him talking. Why not give the kid a chance to insult his big brother?

"All right, tell me about this Mycroft. Sounds like he likes to boss you around."

Sherlock snorted. "His delight in dictating commands and committing blackmail so that I might obey his whims is matched only by his joy in consuming all matter of foods."

Greg chuckled. "Loves to eat, then?"

"Yes. Most obscenely. His gnashing of teeth and groans of delight when he consumes dessert is enough to make one envy the deaf. Not that the visuals are much better. I am certain that a coma victim would twitch in horror if they were placed in the vicinity of Mycroft enjoying a slab of cake."

Greg giggled. "So how fat is he? Fatter than Nick?"

"Your inspector has a grotesque gut that is no doubt the result of copious amounts of beer and crisps. Mycroft, however, resembles a beached whale that has somehow wheezed and sloughed into London and found a pitying tailor who managed to dress him without depriving every fabric store in Great Britain."

"Christ!" Greg snickered and noted the small smile on the teenager's face. "Is that why he's not coming? Too fat to get in the car?"

Sherlock's smile faltered a bit. "His reason for not coming here is his workload from his internship."

"Oh yeah? Who's he interning for, Ben and Jerry's? Does he taste test new flavors, suggest new ones?"

"The horror! No. But I will suggest that to him the next time he begins droning at me about my "behavior". He would be rendered catatonic at the idea of being surrounded by ice cream." Sherlock began fiddling with his collar. "No, he does not intern with them."

"Who, then?" Greg asked carefully.

Sherlock sighed. "Everyone." This seemed to be his final word on the matter, and before he looked away, Greg caught the glimpse of something in his expression. He looked... concerned.

Greg spoke quickly before he could lapse into complete silence again and before that mysterious driver could show up. "So, besides you being skinny and your brother being fat as shit, are there any other major differences, or are you two mostly similar?"

"I suppose we...have more in common than not." Sherlock pursed his lips. Clearly comparisons to his brother were tiresome, or he didn't like admitting to having anything in common with him.

A huge, sleek vehicle suddenly pulled into the car park, and Greg took a chance. "Look, Sherlock, it's been cool talking to you, you're a clever lad, but I would hate to see you get in trouble again. Just do me and Mycroft a favor, yeah? Stay away from the bad crowd."

Sherlock gave him a sharp look. "I am not part of any _crowd_ , Sergeant."

The car parked directly in front of them. Sherlock strode forward and put his hand on the door handle, then hesitated. 

Greg frowned. "You okay?" He stepped forward. "Sherlock, if things aren't okay at home..."

"Everything is fine, I am not in any danger, I can assure you." Sherlock opened the door and looked back at him. "Sergeant Lestrade..."

"Call me Greg." 

Sherlock looked right into his eyes. "I feel I should tell you that your girlfriend is cheating on you." 

Greg's jaw dropped. "What...?"

"It is fortunate that you have not moved in with her yet." Sherlock got in the car, slammed the door, and it sped off.

Greg watched it leave in silent shock, then scrambled to take out his phone. He quickly pulled up recent calls and cursed. Nick was right. Sherlock had deleted the number he had called. There was no way of getting in contact with him, or his brother.

Just then, his phone buzzed. An incoming text.

\- **I have a phone that my brother does not know about, and I do not see any benefit in you having means of contacting Mycroft directly.**

Greg snorted. "Clever little sneaky bastard." He was thinking of possible replies when the phone buzzed again.

\- **To answer your obvious query, try asking your girlfriend why she wants to frequent that particular cafe. You can start there.**

"Shit." Greg placed the phone back in his pocket, his mind racing. He braced himself for the inevitable taunts he'd hear going back into the station, and turned to go back inside. 


	2. Chapter 2

Greg had sent the remainder of the week shrugging off Nick's jeers and decided to reward himself by grabbing a few pints with his mates. He drank more than his usual share and did some harmless flirting with the handsome new bartender, who ended up slipping Greg his number with a wink. It might have been childish, but he placed it in his pocket with a smirk rather than protest that he had a girlfriend.

He wasn't an idiot. Greg had a feeling Diane had been on the pull, or had someone else on the side. He was a fucking _detective_ , after all.

It was moronic optimism. He'd dated men and women and always did his best to keep things going. Greg wasn't sure he could be called a catch, but he had a job and did his damnedest to be a good person. Greg could admit that he was decent-looking, and this could have lead to endless nights of anonymous sex, but he loved being in relationships - taking care of someone. Finding out their favorites, sending flowers and small gifts, making them dinner (and maybe breakfast the next day). But his job was demanding and unpleasant, and he was committed to it, even when it inevitably fucked with his private life. 

Diane had told him he couldn't charm his way out of everything. It had been a month into their relationship, and they'd had a slight argument after he pointed out that him working long hours would just make them appreciate the time they had together even more.

He hadn't talked to her or sent her a text since he met Sherlock. That was four days ago. 

Not wanting to prolong a bad situation, Greg shook off a mild hangover on Saturday morning to send Diane the most dreaded of texts: _We need to talk._

×××××××××××

Monday was a relief. Greg spent Saturday having a shouting match with Diane over the phone, then that evening going back to the pub and having more than a few drinks. He'd seen the bartender again - Jason - and after some more blatant flirting, they went back to Jason's and ended up on his couch, wanking each other because they were too drunk for anything further.

The cab ride home was depressing as hell. Jason's parting words "call me if you ever want to do this again" just made Greg feel lonely. It wasn't like he'd thought this one night stand might lead to something more, but it just reminded Greg that people were willing to be with him, but only for a while. He wasn't looking to get married soon, but he wanted someone special - someone who wanted him and didn't give him shit about his job. 

The job was everything right now. Maybe it always would be. 

Today, though, Greg was happier than ever to get to his desk and start on paperwork. He was even happy to drink the garbage coffee at the office. Anything to distract him from feeling like shit.

"Lestrade!"

Greg swallowed the last of his coffee and exhaled. "On my way, sir." He got up and headed into Inspector Spalling's office.

Nick sat at his desk, his arms crossed. "Ever hear back from that little freak?"

_My weekend was fine, thanks for asking._ "No, " Greg answered truthfully. "Why?"

Nick snorted and tapped on a folder. "Couple of those little fucks said he gave them the drugs."

Greg cleared his throat. "It is possible they are lying, sir."

"That little freak gave me the creeps. Wouldn't surprise me if he _did_ sell it to them."

Greg frowned. "Are they saying he sold them the joint, or that he gave it to them?"

Nick's eyes glinted with fury. "What the fuck does it matter? Get the little creep in here, today."

"Is he under arrest?"

"He might be." Nick flipped through the folder, looking at his notes. "I want him here to be questioned."

"Sherlock has rights. He can refuse to come here. His brother, being his guardian, can refuse it too."

Nick jabbed at a piece of paper. "Three of those five boys were willing to talk. They all said this Sherlock of yours gave them the drugs. That's reason enough to have him questioned." 

Greg took a deep breath. "And if I can't get a hold of him, or his brother?"

"Pull the little fucker out of school." Nick set aside the folder in disgust. "Don't give me that "he has rights" shit. I don't want to hear it from that posh brat or his posh brother either. If the brat won't come willingly, arrest him. Tell him he has no choice."

Greg's jaw dropped. "What?"

"You heard me, Lestrade." Nick sat back and took a sip of his coffee. 

Greg stepped closer to the desk and stared the inspector down. "No."

Nick sat up, returning his stare. "What was that, _Sergeant_?"

"I said no. With all due respect, _sir_ , I do not see any kind of benefit of harassing _children_ ," Greg spat. 

"Is that right." Nick got up and walked around to stand toe to toe with his Sergeant. He leaned forward with a sneer. "Let me tell you something, Lestrade. I'm going to make this perfectly clear. Either you go get that little creepy fuck in your sweetheart Prince Charming way, or I go get him _my_ way." Nick smirked and leaned back. "So, tell me, _Sergeant _\- which one is it going to be?"__

____

×××××××××××

Stonebury School was about twenty minutes from the station. Greg had already smoked a cigarette in the station car park before he'd left, but he was already ready for another one.

A quick call to the school had confirmed Sherlock was a student. It wasn't surprising, since it was right outside the school where they'd found the boys the night before, but it was also a very prestigious school. Sherlock was obviously extremely intelligent, so he probably had no problem getting into the school, and probably excelled at every class. Something told him the classes probably bored Sherlock, though. Perhaps he already knew as much as the professors. It wouldn't be too surprising.

Greg went into the school and spoke with the Headmaster Stephen Brooks, who arranged to have Sherlock pulled from his class. 

"I'll call his brother" Brooks said, and cleared his throat. He seemed nervous, but police had that effect on people. 

As the call began, however, Greg realized that the height of the man's nervousness came from speaking to Mycroft Holmes.

"Mr. Holmes? Yes, this is Headmaster Brooks. Sherlock is fine" Brooks said quickly. "Well, the police are here. Sherlock is suspected as being involved in something, and the police want to bring him in for questioning." The color drained from his face. "Yes...yes, of course. I'll let Sergeant Lestrade know immediately." Brooks hung up the phone and cursed under his breath.

Greg raised an eyebrow. "I guess Mycroft is on his way."

"Yes." Brooks grabbed the bottle of water on his desks and took a big gulp. "He is...very upset."

"That's not surprising." Greg sighed. 

The door opened, and a woman stuck her head in. "Sir?" She stepped back, and Sherlock walked into the room, his head down and his hands in his pockets.

"Hey, Sherlock." Greg smiled sadly. God, he hated this. "Wanna have a seat?"

"No."

Brooks sighed. "Sherlock..."

"He asked me a question, and I answered it," Sherlock snapped, keeping his eyes on the floor. 

"It's fine" Greg soothed. "Look, Sherlock..."

"Your brother is on his way" Brooks interrupted, shooting Greg an apologetic look. 

Sherlock's head snapped up. "The elephant is coming _here_?"

Brooks winced. "Sherlock..."

"Elephant, eh?" Greg snickered. "Not a whale?"

"Any creature that takes up more space than is needed is reminiscent of my brother." Sherlock trudged forward and slumped into the seat next to Greg.

Greg watched him with a heavy heart. The poor kid was scared. Fucking Nick... "Sherlock, I want to tell you..."

Something buzzed, and Sherlock took out his phone and pursed his lips. "Sergeant Lestrade..."

"Greg, Sherlock. Call me Greg." 

"We are to meet my brother outside. He will be here shortly." Sherlock put his phone away and stood up. 

Greg stood, feeling anxious. He managed a smile at Sherlock, who only stared back at him. "Let's go then."

×××××××××××

The walk out of the school towards the car park was excruciating. Sherlock was silent and sullen. Greg waited until they were just out of the school to speak. "Sherlock, I don't want to do this, all right? It was either me coming here or Inspector Spalling, and as he made clear last night, he's not a big fan of yours."

Sherlock looked at him. "I did not supply the joint to those imbeciles." 

Greg smiled. "You figured they'd name you as the guilty culprit."

"It wasn't hard to deduce" Sherlock muttered. "No, I merely suggested where they could procure marijuana, and suggested a meeting place." 

"What?" Greg whirled on him.

Sherlock stopped walking and sighed. "It was an experiment. I wanted to observe firsthand the effects of the drug on those with average intelligence."

Greg groaned. "Sherlock..."

"I did not break any laws that I am aware of." The teenager affected a nonchalant stance, but Greg could spot the anxiousness in those clear blue eyes. 

Greg wiped his face. "Okay, we are going to discuss this, you and me."

"Did you break up with your girlfriend on Saturday or Sunday?"

"Don't change the subject!" Greg shook his head. "How did you know Diane was cheating with that barista?"

Sherlock smirked and held out his hand. "You haven't deleted her picture yet. Not out of sentiment, but because you do not want to be reminded of her."

"Christ." Greg took out his phone and handed it to him. "All right, explain" he muttered as he stood next to the teenager. 

Sherlock pointed. "This is a recent picture, taken during the summer - note the clothing in the background - but your now ex-girlfriend is gripping her steaming coffee mug. It is not to warm her hands, as she might do in colder weather. She is anxious. Her body is angled away from you, and it appears she is staring into space, but in truth she is staring into a mirror. In the reflection you can see a barista staring rather intently at her. Also, you are drinking an iced coffee in a disposable cup that you could take with you as you leave. Her drink of choice is one to be slowly imbibed, at that location. She wanted to stay for a while, at a cafe that is approximately fifteen miles away, when there are quite a few cafes closer in the area, with the majority of them held in higher regard due to the quality of the coffee and their menus, as well as ambience and other such details. There was something at _that_ particular cafe, something exclusive to that location, that attracted her to visit repeatedly, as you had said it was a favorite if hers. In this instance, it was the barista surreptitiously exchanging a look with her in this photograph." He handed the phone back to Greg.

"Jesus." Greg could only stare at him in shock.

Sherlock shifted his weight a bit. "It was also in how you said her name. You have been having problems, but you were hopeful about it. You thought you could possibly work things out."

"You could tell that just by how I said Diane's name?"

"You seem to have a... positive disposition." Sherlock scanned the car park. "My brother has arrived."

They both headed to the large black car that was too small to be a limo but larger than an average car. A tall slender man stood in front of the car with his back to them, smoking and staring at lake beyond the school grounds. "I guess your driver is waiting for us to arrive before he lets Mycroft out" Greg noted.

Sherlock scoffed. "That's not my driver. That's my brother."

"... Mycroft?"

"I am not aware of having any other siblings, so yes."

Greg gaped at him. "You said he was fat!"

"You haven't seen his protruding stomach. It is revolting." Sherlock strode forward, but Greg quickly followed. 

Sherlock sprinted ahead, saying something that made Mycroft turn slightly toward him. His silhouette was all angles, sharp and striking. He muttered something and turned back ahead, which seemed to annoy Sherlock, who was responding in a biting tone. 

Greg hurried closer. "Mycroft Holmes?" he called out.

Mycroft's shoulders stiffened and he sighed. Greg watched him drop his cigarette and casually crush it, tapping his foot over the mound of dirt. He said something Greg didn't catch, something that made Sherlock flick his eyes fearfully to his brother and back to Greg. Mycroft shook his head and sighed again. Greg felt his heart start to pound, and then Mycroft turned to face him.

Greg was not prepared. His jaw actually dropped. 

The man - Mycroft - was stunning. Not just good looking, or even beautiful, but _stunning_. Bright blue eyes, almost gray. Dark, wavy hair with a red tint. A sharp profile, each feature - a strong nose, soft looking lips and chin - coming together to create an incredible picture. He was like a statue. A figure in marble, a guess at what a god would look like.

He was... _breathtaking._

Greg couldn't move. He couldn't hear, or speak. He could only stare.

Mycroft seemed a bit taken aback himself, his eyes widening in shock. He looked Greg over, seeming to take in each feature, looked him up and down. His hands twitched. Greg gazed at his hands - long, slender fingers, elegant - and felt faint.

He had never been so unsettlingly aroused in his life. It frightened him a bit.

Mycroft took a breath and seemed to compose himself. "You're... Lestrade."

Greg tried to speak, or nod, but could only stare. He was vaguely aware of Sherlock saying something that Mycroft seemed to ignore.

"Well. It appears my brother was not fabricating your existence after all." His voice was like silk. Greg realized that Mycroft was holding out his hand and Greg managed to step forward, taking it in his own. He felt the soft skin of Mycroft's palm and nearly whinged in need. 

"You're..." Greg heard how low and gruff he sounded and winced internally. Mycroft heard it too, he seemed to take in a sharp breath. Greg cleared his throat and tried again. "You're Mycroft. It's...a pleasure."

"Oh for..." Sherlock sounded disgusted. " _Must_ you? I cannot..."

"One moment." Mycroft's commanding tone made Greg feel weak at the knees. He'd thought it was only an expression before, but he frantically wondered if he might actually collapse at this gorgeous creature's feet. 

"Mr. Holmes," he managed, and let go of the other man's hand. "I apologise for this, but Sherlock is wanted to be brought in for questioning. You can, of course, refuse to have him brought in."

"Of course." Mycroft's gaze traveled over him again. "This is not your doing, Sergeant Lestrade. You are following orders given by Inspector Spalling?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah. I'm afraid he has spoken with...did Sherlock tell you what happened last night?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "From what my brother tells me, he was conducting an experiment of sorts."

"Of sorts." Sherlock scoffed. "Am I to rely solely on the findings of haphazard research conducted by idiots?"

"You are a fifteen year old boy," Mycroft retorted, turning slightly to address him.

Sherlock's eyes widened in anger. "I am not a _child_ , Mycroft."

"Someday I hope to truly believe that, when you conduct yourself in the manner of a respectable young adult." He ignored Sherlock's resulting huff and turned back to Greg. "I wish to speak with your inspector."

Greg nodded. "Yes, of course. Do you want to follow me to the station? We can all go in together. You can, of course, call a lawyer to be present."

Mycroft smiled slyly. It was an incredible sight. "That will not be necessary, Sergeant."

"Right." Greg took a deep breath. "Again, I apologise for this, Mr. Holmes."

"No need." Mycroft looked into his eyes. "I do not have a title, and I'm afraid the moniker of "Mr. Holmes" is used only by my subordinates, and quite bluntly, often has me thinking of my late father. Therefore it would be appropriate for you to address me as Mycroft."

Sherlock made a noise of disgust. Greg decided to ignore it.

"All right" he said softly. "Well then, Mycroft, I suppose I'll see you at the station."

"Indeed you will." Mycroft smiled again. It was more relaxed than his previous smile, and no less mesmerizing. Greg tore his gaze away and headed back to his car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reading! I am so excited to see comments (and kudos, of course) - thank you!!

Mycroft and Sherlock strolled into the police station behind Greg, and while not everyone looked up, those who did openly stared. It wasn't often they got people in the station who could be described as elegant. There was no other way to describe them, though. Sherlock had his school uniform on, and although he had his buttoned white shirt untucked, it still looked reminiscent of a GQ ad. Mycroft was impeccable in a tailored three piece suit that showed off his lithe figure and long legs. Greg felt a bit like a ruffian next to them in his plain suit, but it wasn't like he could be a beat cop and wear clothing that cost more than his entire flat.

Greg lead them past the staring officers and opened the door to Nick's office. "Mycroft Holmes is here with his brother Sherlock, sir," he stated, not bothering to hide the contempt in his eyes when he looked at the inspector.

Nick sat back and smirked as Sherlock stepped into the room first and stood in the corner, looking bored. Mycroft moved to block his younger brother from the inspector's view. "Detective Inspector Spalling. I understand you have some questions for my brother Sherlock."

Nick was about to speak when Mycroft continued speaking. "My brother will not be subject to your questioning, Inspector."

"Then why the hell did you bring him here?" Nick snapped. 

"I wanted to observe how you interacted with him. The look you gave him when we entered the room told me everything I need to know." Mycroft's eyes glanced around his office. 

"Is that right." Nick chuckled. "You posh types. You think you're above everything, including the law."

"Sir." Greg stepped up to the desk. "They've both agreed to come here, and..."

"I can see that, Prince Charming!" Nick stood up and glared at him. "Is that all you're good for, Lestrade? Pointing out what's bloody obvious?"

Mycroft held up his hand. "Detective Inspector. I also wanted to let you know that you will be receiving a visit soon from your department's representative from the Independent Office for Police Conduct. His name is Daniel Reynolds. I have expedited the process involved for these sort of complaints, and I have also spoken to Commissioner Phillip Irving."

Nick collapsed into his chair and made a strange, high pitched noise. Greg could only turn to Mycroft in shock. 

"Let me ask _you_ a few questions, Inspector Spalling," Mycroft continued smoothly. "Exactly how many times last night did you refer to my fifteen year old brother as a "fucker", or a "tosser", or a "brat"? I'm only referring to what you said to his face, of course. I'm sure your insults did not cease after Sherlock was taken home."

Nick suddenly became pale. "I..."

"I am also curious as to the manner of questioning in regards to the other boys that were present last night. Sherlock informed me that before the young men invoked their requests for legal counsel, you and Sergeant Lestrade spoke with them at length about the laws regarding loitering and drug usage." Mycroft looked at Greg, who could only gape at him. "Sergeant Lestrade. Is this correct?"

"Yes." Somehow, Greg managed to keep his voice steady.

Mycroft nodded slightly, then turned back to Nick. "I also understand that during their questioning last night, none of the boys claimed that Sherlock had been the provider of the drugs. Yet somehow, this morning, three of them agreed he was to blame. This was after you spoke to the lawyers for each of the boys." Mycroft's gaze intensified. "I tend not to believe in coincidences, Inspector."

Nick took a deep breath. "Now...wait a moment."

"I will not. My time is very valuable, Detective Inspector, and unlike you, I do not utilize copious amounts of free time at my workplace searching the internet for pictures of topless actresses. Although I suppose it is a welcome distraction from your gambling addiction."

"What..." Nick's jaw dropped and his face flushed red. "You...you've been...stalking..."

Sherlock snorted. "That is preposterous. Who would want to stalk _you_? You are nauseatingly dull."

"You don't know Commissioner Irving" Nick breathed. "You're lying."

"I can assure you that I'm not." Mycroft replied. "Apparently there is already a rather large file of complaints against you for abusive language and behavior towards the public and your fellow officers."

Nick turned to Greg with wide eyes. "You..." The inspector stood up, shaking, and walked unsteadily around the desk toward him. "You fucking..."

Greg's heart began pounding as he held up a hand and instinctively stood in front of Mycroft. "Nick, stop. Sit down. I have never issued a complaint against you. Don't give me a reason to, Nick. Let's be calm right now, all right?"

"You fucking freak." Nick's jaw clenched and he began to shake as he glared at Greg. "You're a goddamn _freak_ Lestrade." 

Greg's jaw dropped, but he managed to recover. "Nick, stop this right goddamn now. There's no need..."

"Fucking queer tosser. You think I don't know? Everyone knows you're half queer. I'll bet you fucked this posh arsehole," Nick hissed. "Gonna suck cock all the way to the top, aren't you? I should have fucking sacked you, you goddamn _prick_."

Greg's heart pounded. His eyes widened, and he felt himself start to shake. "What the _fuck_ did you just say to me, you fucking..."

"That's quite enough."

They both whirled to see Detective Chief Superintendent Harrison Devers staring intently at Nick, who was gaping back at him. Mycroft and Sherlock merely looked disinterested, as if this sort of thing happened to them all the time. Greg briefly wondered if that was the case.

Devers narrowed his eyes at Nick. "Spalling, you are to come to my office immediately." Devers turned to Greg. "Detective Sergeant Lestrade. You are to take the rest of the day off, with my most sincere apologies for the language you have just heard. Please do not feel that he speaks for the department, and of course, if anyone speaks to you in any sort of demeaning way again, notify me at once."

"Sir." Greg swallowed. "I apologise for swearing, I..."

Devers shook his head. "No need, Sergeant. Please take the remainder of today..." His voice trailed off as he noticed Mycroft checking his watch. "... Make that two days, Lestrade. Paid, of course. When you return, we will process the paperwork for today's incident."

Greg could only nod and then step aside as Nick walked out in a daze. Devers shut the door behind him, leaving Greg and the Holmes brothers in the office.

Sherlock sighed loudly. "All right, fine. The actress photos were easy, the stack of magazines make it extraordinarily blatant. The gambling addiction, however..."

Mycroft smirked and gestured at the desk. "The calendar is filled with entries such as "last day for power bill" and "two months water due". The newspaper is open to the horse racing section, which wouldn't be unusual, but he's circled a few items numerous times with applied pressure, demonstrating stress. There is an opened bottle of antacids in a larger than average size, suggesting frequent ingestion to alleviate stomach ailments. Shall I continue?"

"Don't," Sherlock snapped. "I would have surmised it if I hadn't been so distracted the last time I was in here. You see, I was overcome by executing a miracle of modern science, as I was able to successfully converse with a whale."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Predictable and charming as ever, Sherlock."

Greg rubbed his face. "I...I can't...what the _fuck_ just happened?"

Mycroft turned to him in mild surprise. "Detective Sergeant Lestrade. You cannot possibly tell me that you are surprised that Inspector Spalling had numerous complaints against him?" He was _calm_. 

Before Greg could respond, Sherlock huffed and began fidgeting. "Are we to spend the day here? It is abhorrently tedious."

"I will return you to your school shortly" Mycroft replied.

"No" Sherlock shot back. "I have experiments that require my attention. You will take me home."

"Experiments, little brother? Do they involve illegal substances?"

"Wait." Greg held up his hand. "Wait. You two...just stop for a second. This...the Commissioner...?"

"Oh, Mycroft knows everyone." Sherlock waved his hand around. "What does it matter? Why are you still here? You've been dismissed and you clearly are wanting to drown your confusion in alcohol."

"Enough." Mycroft gave his brother a sharp look. 

Greg rubbed his face. "I don't..." He shook his head. 

"We wish to leave" Sherlock stated, clearly anxious but hiding it under a petulant glare. "This entire building reeks of desperation and stale coffee."

"R-right. Let me...let me walk you out."

They walked past officers who were now blatantly staring after having witnessed Nick shouting at Greg and then being escorted out by Chief Superintendent Devers. Mycroft strode out while Sherlock hurried ahead to the car. 

When they got closer to the car Greg stopped in front of Mycroft. "Did you call the Commissioner on the way here?"

Mycroft sighed. "Last night I made a few inquiries in regards to the behavior of Inspector Spalling. I was then contacted by Commissioner Irving this morning on my way to the school."

"Irving called _you_?" 

"Yes."

"Christ." Greg laughed disbelievingly. "This is..."

"Oh, do stop flustering!" Sherlock yelled from a few feet away. He stood next to the car with his arms crossed. "It is most tiresome."

Mycroft ignored him and held out his hand. "Detective Sergeant. I would like to thank you. For your time."

Greg shook his hand, suppressing the thrill from the other man's touch. The sun brought out the auburn color of his hair. "I...yeah. Been a pleasure meeting you. Er...sorry about Nick. The way he...his language, I mean. And mine."

"No need to apologise for swearing, Detective Sergeant." Mycroft's gaze lowered. Greg wondered if he was looking at his mouth. 

"Right, yeah." Greg realized he sounded gruff again and cleared his throat. "Um...yes." He let go of Mycroft's hand and put his hands in his pockets. "As for last night, with the other boys and Sherlock..."

"It will all be settled." Mycroft looked Greg over again, then glanced at his watch. "We must go. Goodbye, Detective Sergeant."

"Greg. If I'm to call you Mycroft, you should call me Greg."

Mycroft stared at him with those clear blue eyes and Greg could only look back. "If it pleases you, I shall do that" he said softly. 

Sherlock muttered something under his breath.

Greg wondered if there was a plausible reason for him to ask for Mycroft's phone number, but before he could think clearly the other man turned and strolled to the car and his impatient younger brother. Greg watched the Holmes brothers get into their car and took a deep breath as he watched the car leave. "...Fucking hell."

×××××××××××

Later that night, Greg stopped to get a drink an ran into a few other officers. He soon found himself retelling his side of the story to an enthralled group.

"Wait, so they just left?" Sgt. David Erickson wrinkled his forehead and stamped out his cigarette into the ashtray on the table. "Fucking weird, Lestrade."

"Sounds like Spalling's on his way out." Sgt. Penny Brooks grinned and raised her glass. "I'll drink to that!"

The other officers cheered and clinked glasses. Greg could only smile wryly. "Yeah, well, we'll see. Maybe I'll be the one to get sacked."

"For what?" David scoffed. "Spalling is a fuckhead and you're not."

"Christ, I can't believe I missed it." Sgt. Henry Dawson shook his head bitterly. "What I wouldn't have given to see the look on Spalling's face when Devers hauled him out of there."

"I still can't believe what that arsehole said to you" Penny growled. "He's a bastard. The worst kind of bastard."

Greg shrugged. "I've heard worse." He didn't want to admit the sting of the words and what they implicated. And to hear them from his inspector...

"What does anyone care who you fuck?" Sgt. Meghan Hinds looked bewildered, then started snickering. "Maybe Spalling was disappointed it wasn't him!"

Groans of disgust drowned out Greg's gagging noises. "Just for that, I need another pint." He got up to head to the bar, maneuvering through the crowd. He found a spot at the end of the bar and waited for the bartender, who luckily wasn't Jason tonight.

"Lestrade."

Greg turned to see Sgt. Fred Quarry eyeing him. The man was already fairly inebriated, judging by how he was leaning against the wall. 

"Quarry. Hey." Greg offered a friendly smile.

"Heard you might have gotten Spalling sacked." Fred's lips curled into a sneer.

"Wouldn't have been me, no."

"No, not you. Not in a million years." Fred chuckled and threw back a shot. He slammed the empty glass on the bar. "Nick could be an arsehole, but he was from the old times. You know, when coppers didn't grass on other coppers."

Greg turned to face him. "I didn't grass on Spalling, Fred."

Fred snorted. "Sure. And that toff prick you came in with had nothing to do with that. I'm sure he's just a friend of yours, Lestrade. Seemed the type to be your... _friend_ and all."

Greg narrowed his eyes. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Fred leaned in, his voice low. "It means I'm not scared of you, or the posh bastard you're currently fucking."

"I think you've had too much to drink, Fred" Greg said slowly. "I can call you a cab..."

"For fuck's sake, Greg." Fred chuckled and stood up. "Always got to be the hero. I can call my own fucking cab." He moved past Greg to leave, then turned to murmur in his ear. "You really think Devers is going to let this go? Your fucktoy going right to Irving?" 

Greg pulled back, but Fred just smirked and roughly clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a bloody idiot, Lestrade," he taunted, and then left Greg staring after him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so appreciative of your kudos and comments! Thank you all so so much!

Greg spent the next day feeling restless. Going for a jog didn't help, neither did a quick trip to Starbucks. He sat on his couch, watched some crap telly, got takeout food, and caught up on the news, which only depressed him. Before he knew it, it was night time already. 

Enjoying his small vacation seemed impossible. No one at the station called him or texted him, which meant there wasn't anything new to report. It just made him feel more anxious. 

It was all Mycroft Holmes, sweeping in and doing God knows what to the department. Greg had no idea what he'd be coming back to on Thursday. If Commissioner Irving told Devers to take care of Spalling according to Mycroft's whims, Devers might very well find that insulting. Maybe Quarry was right and Greg would be sacked.

Greg tossed around on his bed. He wanted to call Mycroft. Get some answers. Like who the fuck was he, and how did he know the Commissioner? Devers seemed to be familiar with Mycroft as well.

If Greg had just gone for it and asked for Mycroft's phone number, he could call him now. He wouldn't let his attraction to Mycroft distract him. Even though the suit he was wearing yesterday showed off that sexy slender body with those long legs. And Greg wasn't going to start thinking about how he'd love to have those legs wrapped around his waist. Or his neck.

_Oh fuck._

It had been far too long since Greg ran his tongue along a hard cock. He loved men, and craved men much more than he did women, but it could get tricky trying to seduce another man. Sometimes signals got crossed and he got a rejection from an embarrassed (but sometimes flattered) straight bloke.

Mycroft might not be bisexual as well, but he definitely wasn't straight. Not by the way he looked at Greg. The unmistakable lust in those beautiful light blue eyes...

"Fuck." Greg's body was starting to respond to his memories and fantasies, and he reached into his pants to take himself in hand. He closed his eyes, imagining that he'd gotten Mycroft into his flat and into his bed. His slow strokes up and down his hardening shaft soon quickened at the idea of the gorgeous, elegant man climbing onto the bed. That long, sexy body laying on top of his...

_"I want you, Greg"_ he imagined Mycroft whispering. _"I want you to taste me, and I want to taste you. I want to feel you in my mouth. Do you want that as well?"_

"Fuck yes" Greg moaned out loud, rolling his hips as he fucked his open fist. "God yes, want your cock. Want you to suck me off."

_"You've been thinking of fucking my mouth, haven't you, Detective Sergeant?"_

Greg whimpered, spreading his legs and increasing the speed and pressure on himself, imaging that warm, wet mouth on him, sucking, licking, moaning...

With a gasp, he came suddenly, his chest and hand covered in come. He shuddered, surprised at how quickly he climaxed at just the thought of Mycroft pleasing him. In a daze, he realized he'd come harder than he had in a while, harder than when Jason brought him to orgasm just a few days ago.

"Jesus." Greg panted and tried to calm down. After letting himself bask a bit and catch his breath, he got up and cleaned himself off, then climbed back into bed. He grabbed an extra pillow and hugged it, wanting a semblance of closeness after such a strong release. He imagined he was holding Mycroft after they'd gotten each other off, the other man wrapping his arms around Greg and whispering soothingly to him.

Right before he fell asleep, he realized he'd never fantasized about cuddling with someone before - not ever.

×××××××××××

Greg woke the next morning determined not to waste the day. After breakfast, he looked up the steps usually involved with complaints against police officers. Apparently it took about 3 weeks to process, but Mycroft said he'd expedited the process. By how much, Greg had no idea. After the complaint was processed, either the Independent Office for Police Conduct handled the issue, or it was taken care of locally. Plus, Spalling could appeal whatever was decided for him.

Greg sat back on the couch and sighed heavily. He was to file paperwork on the incident with Spalling tomorrow. He'd also need to mention Spalling's apparent lenience with bringing Sherlock in for questioning. The memory of the boy's clear distress at the situation made him feel sick.

His phone buzzed, and he picked it up to see a message from David. 

**Spalling's been sacked!! He was led out by security just a few minutes ago! Looked scared as shit too!! Rumors about investigations into his cases!! Devers told all of us we were going to see some long overdue changes. I know you're off but wanted to let you know. Tomorrow will be interesting!!**

Greg's jaw dropped. "Holy fuck." He set his phone on the table and rubbed his face. His hands were shaking. Internal investigations. Did that mean he was to be found complicit as Spalling's sergeant? Was Greg going to be the next one sacked, or would he get demoted back to constable? Christ, waiting until tomorrow was going to be hell. 

His phone buzzed again with another message. He took a deep breath, and then picked it up, opening the new text. 

**I am conducting research and therefore need data on pure cocaine. I am assuming you would have information on the official percentage of the substance in regards to the amount of the adulterants with which it is often cut? I am having difficulty locating trustworthy sources online. -SH**

"Oh my fucking god." Greg stared at the message in shock for a moment, then quickly called Stonebury School.

×××××××××××

"Detective Sergeant." Headmaster Brooks was visibly sweating. "As I said, Sherlock isn't in today..."

"And as _I_ said, I want you to contact his brother immediately." Greg stared the other man down.

Brooks cleared his throat. "Detective..."

Greg leaned across the desk and shoved his badge in the man's face. "Get Mycroft Holmes on the phone. Now."

×××××××××××

A car was sent for Greg outside the school. He was tempted to tell the driver that he'd follow him to wherever Mycroft was, but when the car stopped in front of him, the window rolled down and there was Mycroft himself. "Detective Sergeant Lestrade. Please get in."

Greg climbed into the car and sat across from Mycroft, who was eyeing him carefully. "I understand this is about Sherlock?" he asked as the car began to move.

Greg showed him the text. "He says he's doing research. I don't know if that means he's looking to get cocaine, or watch people do it, but this can't happen."

Mycroft read the text and then handed Greg back his phone. "I agree." He looked outside the window, then sighed. "I allowed my brother to stay home today as he was most temperamental about going to school. I feel with this new development he is needing guidance from someone he trusts." Mycroft looked back at him. "That would be you, Detective Sergeant."

Greg rubbed his forehead. "Why is he doing this shit? He's a brilliant kid. Is school not working for him?"

"Sherlock is devoid of patience and also feels his studies are beneath him. I must admit I have been at a loss lately at trying to find something to occupy his focus." Mycroft took a deep breath and Greg felt a pang of sympathy. He was nervous about his little brother, and clearly was pushed into a caretaker role after the death of their parents. 

Greg wanted to take Mycroft's hands in his and reassure him. The urge was so strong that he forced himself to look away.

"I am afraid my brother's temperament makes him unsuitable for the sort of work for which I am being prepared" Mycroft continued. "Perhaps after speaking with you, Sherlock will abandon his habit of placing himself in compromising situations."

"The work you're doing." Greg looked back at him. "Like getting Spalling sacked?"

Mycroft smirked. "I would counter that with stating that Spalling's own actions caused him to lose his position."

"Right, but I could be next. I was his sergeant. I worked with him on cases."

"Detective Sergeant..."

"Greg." He managed a small smile at the look of surprise on Mycroft's face. "It's Greg, remember? When you use my title, I get a bit nervous."

Mycroft cleared his throat. "I can assure you that your position is not in danger."

Greg nodded, then looked out the window. "So...we're going to your home?"

"Yes." Mycroft looked out the window as well. "I felt it would be best if we spoke to Sherlock together."

Greg nodded. "Did you really not know about his secret phone?"

Mycroft turned to him, and Greg met his gaze. Those blue eyes were mesmerizing. "There is not much that escapes my attention, Gregory."

_Oh fuck._ Greg fought the urge to lick his lips and forced himself to look down at his phone. Now was _not_ the time to think about how his full name sounded spoken in that silky voice.

The Holmes estate was, not surprisingly, incredible. It was a goddamn mansion, with a stunning garden and even a water fountain in the front. Mycroft strolled forward and Greg followed, determined not to let his awe distract him.

Before they stepped in, Mycroft paused at the front door. "I feel I must warn you that my brother might lash out if he feels cornered. He often interprets my concern as a selfish desire to control him."

Greg smiled sadly. "He's a good kid. We'll both talk to him, get him to realize that we care about him. I'll make it clear that he needs to stop fucking around with drugs, but I'm not here to scare him. I know that won't work."

Mycroft smiled. "You are quite perceptive, Gregory."

Greg looked at the other man's mouth and briefly thought of his fantasy last night. "It's my job, after all" he murmured, his voice making it sound like a growl.

Mycroft's eyes seemed to widen, and he took a deep breath. "Yes. Well." He cleared his throat. "Let us go in, then."


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock's room was larger than Greg's entire flat. He was sitting at a desk and writing when Greg and Mycroft entered, and didn't turn around. 

"I am _busy_ , brother," Sherlock snapped. "Don't you have spying to do? A country you can harass instead, and leave me to my work?"

"Hey Sherlock." Greg stepped forward. "I got your text."

Sherlock whirled around, his eyes wide. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I want to talk to you, Sherlock." Greg walked up to him, giving him an intense stare. "What the hell sort of experiments are you doing? Are you planning on taking drugs? I could take you in right now, if I thought you had drugs here."

Sherlock scrambled to his feet and returned Greg's stare. "Why are you here? Did _he_ convince you to come here?" he demanded, pointing at Mycroft.

"For heaven's sake, Sherlock, Detective Sergeant Lestrade is here on his own volition" Mycroft responded, sounding disgusted. "Perhaps you shouldn't be surprised, inquiring a police officer on the purity of cocaine."

"You want to know what it does, Sherlock? It ruins people. It would rot that brilliant mind of yours." Greg narrowed his eyes as Sherlock snorted. "Oh, so you'd be immune? You're superior in every way?"

"Enough!" Sherlock's eyes were wide with rage, but Greg could see the fear underneath it. "I have no plans in ingesting any such substances!"

Greg shook his head in disbelief. "Then why..."

"I am _bored_ , Lestrade! I need a distraction. My mind travels at a much faster rate than you can fathom!" Sherlock stomped to his bed and threw himself onto it, his face obscured by his curls. "I cannot live this life much longer!" he shrieked. "I will not succumb to a mundane life and become a slave to societal expectations!" He buried his face in his pillow, breathing heavily. Greg wondered if he was going to start crying. 

Mycroft rubbed his forehead, his eyes closed. His mouth was open, hut he seemed lost for words.

Greg carefully approached Sherlock's bed. "Okay. Well...school isn't for everybody. I get that."

Mycroft's head snapped up and he gave Greg a hard stare that was nearly chilling. Greg managed a smile and held up one finger. He had an idea - he was surprised that he hadn't thought of it before. All he had to do was get Sherlock to listen, and they could all make this work.

"So...here's the thing, Sherlock. You're incredibly perceptive, that's obvious. You knew all about Diane just by looking at a picture. Plus you were able to spot Nick's, ah, affinity for celebrity pictures."

Sherlock grunted into the pillow, but didn't move.

"Well, it's obvious you'd be a brilliant detective, but you'd have to go through the academy. That's if you finished school, which might not work for you right now, but you're already better at the job than most of the other detectives in the department."

Sherlock sat up, his head bowed. His curls were still hiding his face. "That is patently obvious" he muttered.

Greg took the boy's response as obvious interest and decided to take a chance. "Well...maybe I could see about getting you into an advanced program, like what we have for university students. Like a fast track onto becoming a detective, or even a private detective" he added quickly. Something told him Sherlock would drive regular officers to drink or homicide. "Maybe even see about getting you access to what medical students would be looking at, in regards to crimes. Forensics, that sort of thing. There's a similar program for kids, er, students who plan to become medical examiners or doctors."

Sherlock remained still for a moment, then huffed. "I doubt Mycroft would allow my involvement in such a program."

"Let me talk to your brother about it" Greg soothed. "Maybe we can work something out." He glanced at Mycroft, who only raised an eyebrow at him. 

Sherlock fell back onto the bed, posing dramatically with his arms spread. "I suppose I'll go along with your haphazard plan" he sighed.

Greg grinned. The teenager was clearly interested, but didn't want to admit it. "Fair enough. We'll leave you alone now, but Sherlock...if you start fucking around with drugs or get into any other trouble, this won't happen. It'll be your own fault. Got it?"

"Yes," Sherlock groaned. "You may both leave now. Clearly you have... _planning_ that you are both very eager to do." He waved them away without looking up. 

Once they were in the hallway, Mycroft took a hold of Greg's arm. "Come with me" he commanded. 

Greg's pulse quickened as Mycroft led him down the hallway to a study that smelled of leather and wood. Mycroft let him go, but stood in front of him and looked into his eyes. Greg could only stare back.

"You were being truthful" Mycroft finally said, his voice quiet.

"Well...yeah." Greg frowned. "Why the hell would I make that up? There's a program for promising university students who are interested in detective work. Sherlock could probably pass the tests to qualify for it. Maybe the two of us could..."

Mycroft held up his hand. His eyes were wide. "Stop."

"What?" Greg squinted at him. "What are you..."

"You don't..." Mycroft shook his head. "You've...you've done enough, Detective Sergeant..."

"Greg."

"And Sherlock is not your responsibility" Mycroft continued. "Therefore perhaps it would be best if..."

Greg sighed. "For fuck's sake. He _is_ my responsibility. He's a teenager who needs attention, and he's acting out to get it."

Mycroft's stare intensified. "And you are the one to help him. Guide him."

"No! Clearly that's you, and you're doing a good job, but it's got to be overwhelming, yeah? And Sherlock's great, but he's a handful. I like him, he's a good kid. I want to help him. And help you." Greg shook his head, exasperated. "I'm not...trying to step on your toes. I just think maybe it would be good for him. Keep him occupied. You're both brilliant, but you said he can't do what you're doing, and..." Greg laughed. "Christ, what _do_ you do?"

Mycroft waved his hand. "Currently I am interning with a small group of local politicians. It is dull paperwork, nothing more."

Greg snorted. "Pull the other one."

Those grayish blue eyes shined with mischief. "You doubt me."

"I think you're a bit of a mystery." Greg forced himself to look away and glanced around the room. "This is nice."

"My great-grandfather had this room designed especially for the men of the family. Not that women were not allowed, but it was a location for the Holmes patriarchs to complete their work without being disturbed."

Greg took in the fireplace and imagined sitting at the dark walnut desk with a drink in hand, basking in the glow of the flames. "Do you spend a lot of time here?"

"Sometimes." 

Greg imagined Mycroft taking off his jacket and settling into the leather chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up. "Good for privacy" he mused, and bit his lip.

Mycroft gave him that sly smile that made Greg want to slide his hands all over him. "Do you like it?"

"It's a bit intimidating, but I can see how it would be comfortable." Greg turned to face him, letting his gaze travel over every feature. "Intimate" he murmured, then gathered his courage and decided to go for it. "In that way, it suits you."

Mycroft looked surprised, even stunned.

Greg smiled, stepping forward just a bit closer. "What about yours?" he asked softly.

"Mine?" Mycroft whispered, his gaze low. He was _definitely_ looking at Greg's mouth. 

Greg decided to be a bit bold and teasing. He ran his tongue along his top lip, his heart pounding when Mycroft slightly gasped. This time Mycroft was the one to step forward, leaving inches between them.

"Your bedroom" Greg murmured. 

Mycroft took in a deep breath. "You...wish to see my bedroom." 

"Yes" Greg whispered. 

"If it would please you..." Mycroft rumbled, and this time it was Greg's turn to take a deep breath. 

"Mycroft..."

Greg's phone buzzed, making them both jump. Mycroft stood back, blinking rapidly, as if he had just stepped out of darkness into blinding light. 

"S-sorry" Greg stammered, pulling out his phone. 

**I would assume this program gives one unfettered access to perform experimentation on flesh in various stages of decay? I do not think your superiors would approve of grave robbing, but surely there are unclaimed corpses and those generous enough to will their bodies to science? - SH**

Greg sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. "Your brother wants to experiment on corpses."

Mycroft smirked. "Perhaps you will be changing your number?"

"No! Let him ask away. It's just..." _bloody rotten timing._

"Quite." Mycroft seemed to read his mind. That playful light was back in his eyes.

"Erm. Yeah." Greg cleared his throat, feeling awkward. "So...speaking of numbers, I think I should have yours. That way we can talk about the program and...make plans."

Mycroft looked stunned, then reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. "Yes...of course."

Greg felt a thrill as they exchanged mobile numbers. He forced himself not to grin like an idiot. 

"Right." Mycroft still seemed a bit unsure, even a little dazed. "Well...I suppose I should return you to the school so you can retrieve your car."

Disappointment at the idea of leaving Mycroft led to a sudden idea. "Before you do that, maybe we could grab a bite to eat?"

Mycroft frowned. "...I'm sorry?"

"I'm asking if you would like to get some lunch? It's my day off, after all" he pointed out with a smile.

"Oh." Mycroft began fidgeting with his ring, which drew Greg's attention. It looked like a wedding ring, but he wore it on his right hand. He'd noticed it before, but Mycroft's overwhelmed reaction to a lunch date filled Greg with dread. _Of course he's taken, he's brilliant and fucking gorgeous..._

Mycroft noticed Greg eyeing his ring and smiled. "My father's" he explained. "It was his father's as well. I know it's ridiculous, but wearing it makes me feel close to him."

"It's not ridiculous, it's sweet." 

Mycroft blushed, and it was the most adorable thing Greg had ever seen. "All right, then...we can perhaps go to Diogenes Club. We can also discuss this program for Sherlock in greater detail."

Greg nodded, trying to remain calm while his heart was pounding. "Sounds great. Should we bring Sherlock along?"

"We could extend an invitation, which I'm sure will be vehemently declined." Mycroft sighed. "It might be for the best. He is not particularly pleasant company for dining." 

Sherlock's disturbing descriptions of his brother's eating habits came to mind. "Yeah, I can see how that would be the case." Greg's phone buzzed and he saw a message from Sherlock. "Speak of the devil..."

**Why have you not left yet? Are you dawdling? Have you become lost, or has Mycroft succumbed to hunger and devoured your flesh? Respond at once. -SH**

Greg chuckled and texted an invitation to lunch. Mycroft watched him and smiled. "You truly do care for him, don't you?" he asked softly.

"Of course! He's eccentric, but most geniuses are." Greg shot Mycroft an amused grin. "I'll bet you have some interesting habits yourself."

That playful light in Mycroft's eyes reappeared. "Perhaps."

Greg's phone buzzed with another message from Sherlock. **I would sooner hurl myself into the Thames than watch Mycroft succumb to his gluttony. The same goes for you watching him do so with great interest. -SH** "Looks like Sherlock won't be joining us."

"Pity. I've grown used to his groans of disgust when we dine together." Mycroft smiled, then cleared his throat. "Well. Shall we go then?"

"Yeah." Greg put his phone away and grinned. "Let's go."

×××××××××××

The Diogenes club was a bit dark and strange, with men staring at Greg in disdainful silence as Mycroft led him to a private room in the back. He'd explained the rules on the way, so Greg knew not to talk or wander off on his own, but he couldn't help staring in awe at the gilded walls and antique furniture that probably cost more than Greg's entire apartment building.

Mycroft walked down a hallway and held a door open for Greg ( _like a gentleman_ , Greg thought to himself, and bit back a smile). Inside the room was a lit fireplace and a small table with two chairs set across from each other. The glow of the flames set against the dark wooden walls made the room feel more intimate. 

An attendant delivered their food while Greg told Mycroft about the university program, and what Sherlock would need to do to get approved. As they finished, Mycroft sat back in his chair and sighed.

"His grades are exemplary, though his professors tell me that he's been known to toss his completed assignments onto their desks and scurry off to the science laboratory, which he has described to me as lackluster." Mycroft dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin, which Greg found to be strangely charming. 

"Does he like his science classes, at least? Your brother seems to be keen on the subject."

"Sherlock is undoubtedly brilliant, but his remarkable impatience and his inability to compromise would hinder any attempts to advance in that field of work." Mycroft looked at Greg carefully. "You seem to think detective work would suit him better."

Greg snorted. "He was able to figure out my girlfriend was cheating on me just by looking at a picture with her. When I asked him how he figured it out, he was thrilled to show me." He noticed a change in Mycroft's expression and panicked, speaking rapidly. "I broke up with her. Sherlock knew that too. He asked me about it. I could have used his help in university, maybe he could have told me which guys were straight so I wouldn't waste time asking them out."

Mycroft stared at him, clearly confused. "You...I'm sorry, I don't quite see the correlation between those two situations."

Greg winced. "I, ah...I guess I'm trying to say that I'm, well." He laughed. "I sound like a bloody idiot."

"You do not, I assure you." Mycroft eyed him carefully. "So, you've...had unfortunate encounters while at university?"

"Nothing terrifying. Just me trying to flirt with some guys who didn't flirt back." Greg bit his lower lip. "Has that ever happened with you?"

"Regrettably, yes." Mycroft's eyes glittered with something that looked like hope. "Although I suppose...that does happen, to men like myself."

"And like me," Greg agreed. "Sometimes I've had people tell me that I had to pick either men or women, that I couldn't have both. But I'm attracted to people, not just a gender, you know?"

Mycroft nodded slowly. "I do understand... attraction."

"Yeah." Greg lifted his gaze and stared boldly at the other man. "Let's do this again. You and me."

Mycroft's eyes widened. "This...you mean..." 

"You and me." Greg smiled, feeling a thrill when he noticed the other man blush. 

"I...well. I suppose it would be most appropriate, as we could discuss the program and anything of importance. Yes, of course." Mycroft cleared his throat. "I would offer you a digestif, but I know you will return to your car soon, and as a man of the law, even a touch of alcohol ingested before operating a vehicle would be... disagreeable."

Greg giggled. Mycroft was _adorable_. "That's fine. But I must admit that I am interested in dessert."

Mycroft's eyes lit up, but he then schooled his features. "That could be arranged."

Greg shared a slice of vanilla almond cake with Mycroft Holmes and decided that Sherlock's observational skills were decidedly lacking when it came to his brother. Mycroft did _not_ make grotesque noises while enjoying his cake. In fact, he only sighed softly in contentment as he finished his final bite. Greg also decided that he wanted to hear that sound again. Maybe in a different setting, like Greg's bedroom, while their bodies calmed after hours of enjoyment.

_Settle down_ , he told himself, and kept himself from leering.

When they were finished, Mycroft waved away Greg's offer to pay with an amused smirk, and lead them outside to the waiting car. The ride back to Greg's car at the school was far too short - they joked, exchanged shy smiles, and basked in each other's presence. Greg knew they'd just met, but being around Mycroft was like being charged into an exhilarating energy source. It felt like the beginning of something monumental.

"We are here," Mycroft announced as the car came to a stop. "Thank you for everything you have done today, Det...Gregory."

Greg felt a thrill at the sound of his full name in that decadent voice. "Thank you for trusting me to talk with your brother. And for talking about the program with me. And for lunch." Greg raised his eyebrows. "My treat next time."

Mycroft flushed red and nodded. "That...would be lovely."

It was too soon for a kiss. Greg knew he could only offer a handshake, but consoled himself that he'd at least get to touch the incredible man sitting across from him. 

"I'll call you," Greg promised, and got out with a huge grin on his face. 

It quickly faded when he saw his car. 

Someone - or some _ones_ \- slashed his tires and ran keys through the paint on the doors. The windshield was intact, probably to ensure that the written message could be clearly read: "FUCK OFF, GRASSHOPPER".

Mycroft got out and stood next to him. "What in heaven's name? Grasshopper?"

"It's...it means a snitch. A copper who "shops" information on other cops." Greg wiped his face. "They fucking followed me here." 

"Then you are not safe." Mycroft's voice became deeper, more authoritarian. "Get back into my car. We shall return to my home, and I will begin making calls."

"No." Greg stepped away and pulled out his phone. "I'm calling a cab. Going home."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "You cannot be serious."

"I am." Greg clenched his jaw. "Look, just...get back into your car, alright? It's bad enough they followed me here, they know _you're_ here..."

"I don't understand..."

"Just forget it!" Greg shouted, and walked around his car. He didn't love the thing, but it was _his_ and it was fucking trashed now...

"Gregory."

"No. This isn't..." Greg took a deep breath. "Don't make any fucking calls, all right? Just don't."

Mycroft gaped at him. "You cannot possibly..."

"Just _stop_! I don't...I can't do this right now! I can't...just, get out of here. Please. Don't get involved." Greg felt himself begin to shake as he poked mercilessly at his phone, putting in a request for a cab. One was close by, and would be there in a couple of minutes. 

"This was clearly the work of more than one person. Your safety is questionable at best right now." Mycroft stepped closer. "I am sorry for what has happened to your vehicle, but I must insist you come with me now. I will not leave you alone in a car park after witnessing this atrocity."

Greg quickly moved away. "I'm not going anywhere! I've got a cab on the way. I'm going _home_ , Mycroft."

"Why on earth..."

"Just _stop_!" Greg shouted. "What are you going to do, call Irving? The prime minister? The fucking Queen? Just fucking stop interfering! They think it's because of me that Spalling got sacked. They think I've got you pulling strings to get the fucking Commissioner involved! I don't know how the fuck I'm going to undo all this shit, but going with you to your fucking mansion or your fucking posh club won't help. So just fucking stay out of it!"

Mycroft's jaw dropped, but then the look of hurt in his eyes faded to a steely gaze. His features settled into a blank mask of indifference. "Yes, of course. The car shall remain close by until your cab has arrived. Good day, Detective Sergeant." He turned and got into his car, which quickly sped off to the other end of the car park.

Greg watched it go with a lump in his throat. His eyes were stinging. He almost didn't notice the cab pulling up.

When he got in, the driver looked at his destroyed car and whistled. "Better call the cops if that's yours, mate."

"I am a cop" Greg mumbled. "Off duty."

The cab cursed under his breath. "Damned kids. No respect for the law." 

Greg looked out the window as Mycroft's car drove off in the opposite direction. "Let's get the hell out of here." He took a deep breath as the cab began moving and closed his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

"Christ, mate. You weren't kidding." David watched Greg's car get towed and shook his head.

"It's Quarry." Greg stomped out a cigarette. "Him and however many others think I grassed on Nick." 

David narrowed his eyes. "Fucking Christ. Nick was an arsehole to everybody, but the way he talked to you...he'd never done anything like that before, yeah? Don't tell me he's been calling you those names all this time, Greg."

"No. Been an arsehole to me but nothing like..." Greg took a deep breath. "No one's ever said that shit to me in the department. Not to my face."

"Well, it's shit, utter shit." David spat on the ground. "Fucking hell, mate. It's not right to hear that ever, let alone at a goddamn police station. Fuck Spalling. I don't know anyone else who's ever said that and if I had, I would've knocked out their teeth." David frowned. "Did Quarry mention anybody else when he gave you shit last night?"

"No. But he's not alone in this." Greg kicked at the ground. "I fucked up, David."

"No, none of that" David said sternly. "Spalling is and always was a fucking arsehole. You didn't do anything wrong."

Greg shook his head. "No...Mycroft. I fucked it all up with him." 

David eyed him and opened his passenger car door. "Get in. You're coming with me for a drink. Or several."

×××××××××××

A few hours later, Greg finished his final pint and poked at the bowl of peanuts on the table. He had told his story and was feeling dazed. He had a feeling the alcohol was only a small part of that contribution.

"Look, Quarry's a bastard. Maybe he's got a couple of other bastards helping with his dirty work. But no one was saying anything about you when Spalling got his comeuppance."

"How did they know I'd be at the school? Are they really fucking following me on my day off?"

"Seems like it." David's eyes took on a hard glint. "This is harassment, Greg. Don't go anywhere on you're own, okay? I don't like this."

Greg looked around the pub. No one was paying any attention to them. Still, he felt uneasy. 

"Maybe get that posh friend of yours to help with this shit."

"That might not be likely now" Greg muttered.

"Who _is_ this bloke?" David asked carefully. "Seems like he's got connections." 

Greg shrugged. "I'm not sure, and now I'll never know."

David rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Lestrade. I know you can get gloomy with relationship shit, but..."

Greg laughed bitterly. "I wasn't in a relationship with Mycroft."

"Sounds like you were headed that way."

"Maybe. But he's not going to want anything to do with me now."

David frowned. "You were upset. Just saw your car trashed. He'll give you some space and then ask you to lunch again."

"You didn't see the look on his face." Greg groaned. "God. I'm a bastard."

"Oi! Stop it with that." David glared at him. "This Mycroft of yours is worried about you. Have you at least tried to talk to him since you saw him last?"

Greg cringed. "No."

David snorted. "Well that's no good, is it? How would you feel if the situation were reversed? You'd be driving yourself mad with worry."

_Shit._ "You're right." Greg stood up and took out his phone. "I'm gonna call him now."

"In a pub?" David raised an eyebrow. "Not very private for that." He smirked and handed Greg his keys. "Go in my car, call him from there. But no wanking! I'll arrest you for public indecency myself."

Greg snorted and took the keys. "He's going to tell me to fuck off."

"He's going to tell you to fuck something!" David snickered. "Go make the call."

As soon as Greg got into David's car his heart started pounding. He'd gone completely mental on Mycroft when he was only trying to help. Sometimes Greg had a bit of a temper - nothing like Sherlock's, but that kid was on another level with everything - and he'd shown a really shit side of himself to a guy he really liked. If Mycroft decided he didn't want anything to do with him, it wouldn't be too surprising.

At the very least, Greg had to apologize. Now.

He took a deep breath and brought up Mycroft's number on his list of contacts. Just seeing his name gave Greg a little thrill. Before he could lose his nerve, Greg pushed "call" and waited.

It rang. And rang. 

By the tenth ring Greg knew he should hang up, but he could only hold his head with one hand while he clutched at the phone with the other. 

It was pathetic and sad and so very like everything else that had happened to him lately.

He closed his eyes, allowing the brief moment of pity. Suddenly he realized he was making a call to a man who clearly didn't want to talk to him. It was time to hang up. 

Greg was just about to pull away from his phone when the ringing stopped. His eyes grew wide as he heard a sigh on the other end. "Mycroft?" he asked softly.

"Detective Sergeant. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Mycroft's tone was detached, aloof. It hurt to hear it.

"Hey. Um, look. I really want to talk to you."

Something clinked in the background. "We are currently speaking."

Greg winced. "Yeah. Mycroft...I owe you an apology. I was out of line, and you were just trying to help, and...I'm sorry."

"No need for apologies, Detective" Mycroft replied smoothly. "Rest assured precautions are in place to ensure your safety."

"Precautions?" Greg sat up, feeling dizzy. "I don't understand."

Mycroft sighed. "You have my utmost assurance that you will not come to bodily harm. Of that I can assure you, most certainly, completely."

Greg frowned. The way he was talking, the repetitions, the clink in the background...ice. "Mycroft, have you been drinking?"

Mycroft grunted. "I am not currently operating a vehicle, Detective Sergeant."

Greg's face broke out on a grin. He began to giggle.

"And now you are laughing" Mycroft said sharply. "You find me amusing."

"No! Mycroft...I'm sitting outside a pub, in my friend's car, and I've had more than a few drinks, and...I hate how I spoke to you. I'm not like that. I'm not, I swear. God, I'm so fucking sorry and I'm a goddamn mess but...I really, really wanted to talk to you. To tell you that. To say too much and...shit. I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot and I fucked up a good thing before it could really..." Greg exhaled and slumped in the passenger seat. "Just...it's funny, I guess. That we're doing the same thing. Sort of."

There was silence on the other end, and Greg was just about to panic when Mycroft spoke again. "Detective Sergeant. I fear our mutual imbibing has affected us both" he murmured, his voice slow and unsteady. "I will soon consult with you via text to ensure that Sherlock's participation in the university program is handled smoothly. In the meantime, I'd advise that you get some rest." 

"Okay" Greg mumbled. "But Mycroft..."

"I will consult with you _via text_ , Detective Sergeant, until I can find a suitable replacement to communicate with you to handle Sherlock's involvement in the program." The call ended with a soft click, and Greg rubbed at his eyes, feeling hollow.

×××××××××××

David promised him a ride to work tomorrow, and kept telling Greg everything would be fine. Greg wasn't so sure anymore.

He crawled into bed and hugged his pillow, feeling weak. He didn't drink enough to have a hangover tomorrow, but he felt bloody awful.

His phone buzzed, and he grabbed it from the nightstand and stared hopefully at it. 

**My brother is even more insufferable than usual this evening. He is currently in our study drinking copious amounts of brandy and has skipped both dinner and dessert, which is so uncharacteristic of him that I am forced to conclude that this creature in my home is a changeling of some sort. When I entered the study to inquire him about the specifics of the program that you had mentioned, he ignored me and stared at the fireplace. Usually Mycroft is quite eager to pontificate on all subjects, so naturally I am fascinated. -SH**

Greg smiled sadly. This was Sherlock speak for "what did you do to my brother?" He typed a reply.

_I was an arse and took out my frustrations on your brother. I don't think he accepted my apology._ He was about to set his phone back on the nightstand when it buzzed again. 

**Might I suggest cake? -SH**

Greg laughed. _I'll try just about anything._

**Just about. An interesting term. -SH**

Greg bit his lip. _Don't want to annoy him._

**Why? He annoys me, and delights in it. He is annoying me now with his whinging. -SH**

_He's actually whinging?!_

**In the form of silent petulance. No, I retract that. He is at my door, spitting nonsense about my need of sleep. -SH**

Greg sat up. _He's there now? Wait...does he know you're talking to me?_

**I just informed him. He has been rendered catatonic and is gaping at me like a freshly lobotomized goldfish. It is most grotesque. -SH**

Greg's fingers hovered over his phone. What could he say? "Tell your brother I've already got a massive crush on him"? "Can you beg him to give me another chance?"

**My brother would very much like to**

That was all the message said. Was Sherlock teasing him?

Suddenly Greg's phone rang. He answered it without thinking.

"Hello..."

"I am being abused!" 

"Sherlock!" Greg heard commotion in the background. "What..."

"Help! I want to report abuse!" Sherlock shrieked. "You are police! You must protect me!" There were sounds of a struggle and in the background Greg could hear Mycroft shout "intolerable brat!" 

" _Stop!_ Both of you!"

Sherlock was shouting from a distance, and Greg could hear heavy breathing. "Detective... Sergeant..."

"Mycroft! What's going on?"

Sherlock was yelling that Mycroft's "petulant cowardice shall ruin all our lives" as Mycroft exhaled. "...My apologies, Detective Sergeant Lestrade..."

"His name is Graham!" Sherlock shouted.

"It's Greg, actually. Mycroft, is everything okay?"

"I will give it back when you have learned to behave yourself" Mycroft hissed. A door closed and he sighed. "Yes. Again, I apologize, Sherlock has become most disagreeable." He paused. "I feel I owe you an apology as well, Detective Sergeant."

" _Greg_ , Mycroft."

"...Yes. You had attempted to make amends earlier and I reacted rather childishly. For that I apologise. Most profoundly."

Greg smiled and settled against his pillows. "So we're good, then? No hurt feelings?"

"Indeed."

"In that case...my previous offer stands. I would love to take you to lunch. Or dinner."

The silence on the other end made Greg wince. Had he gone too far?

"I would... very much like that. Gregory."

Somehow Greg managed not to squeal in delight. "Great! I'll text you later. Or call you. And I'll get paperwork ready for Sherlock. You'll need to sign it as his guardian." 

"We shall discuss it further soon" Mycroft purred. "Until then...have a good evening, Gregory."

"I will. You too." Greg placed his phone back on the nightstand and turned to hold his pillow, sighing happily.

×××××××××××

The next morning Greg was tired, but otherwise didn't feel the effects of last night's drinking. He got up early to grab a coffee for himself and David, who had bought a couple boxes of doughnuts to bring in.

"Might as well perpetuate the stereotype." David grinned. "Word is we get a new inspector today. They've already replaced Spalling. Not sure who it is, but someone mentioned it's a woman, and she's the no nonsense sort. Rather strict. There's word she's interested in making changes."

Greg shrugged and took a sip if his coffee. "I can work with strict. Would be better to have someone who actually follows protocol than Spalling's bullshit."

"Agreed." 

The station was buzzing when they arrived. David's offer of doughnuts was happily accepted and Greg managed to grab a glazed one before the constables decended on them.

No one was in Spalling's old office, but it had been cleared out and a few boxes were on the desk. 

"Lestrade." Penny Brooks walked up to him, her eyes wide. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" She lowered her voice. "Somewhere private."

Greg nodded and followed her to a stairwell. She glanced around and took a deep breath.

"I overheard one of the constables talking about Quarry, and mentioned you. He was saying that a couple of other people are planning to "teach you a lesson about loyalty". They're making it personal. It sounded really dodgy."

_Fuck._ "They followed me yesterday and trashed my car. I'm gonna have to keep an eye out for this shit."

"I don't like this, Greg. I want to talk to the new inspector. This is harrassment."

"Let me do that. And don't worry about me, I've been told by, uh, a reliable source that I have people looking out for me. I won't get hurt."

Penny smiled. "Would that source be that sexy posh bloke who was in the other day who only had eyes for you?"

Greg couldn't stop the grin that broke at the thought of Mycroft. "Yeah."

"Ohh, he's dishy." Penny's eyes sparkled, but then she sighed. "Just promise to talk to the inspector, okay? And be careful."

"I will, and I will."

"Good. Now let's get back in there. If I don't grab a doughnut now, I'll have to wait for lunch."

Greg opened the door for her and they headed back to their desks. He was feeling energized, hopeful even. The new inspector would want to hear about everything that was going on, and maybe something could be done quickly. Plus he had Mycroft's help, and he had that lunch or dinner date to look forward to. 

As he got closer to his desk, his heart began pounding.

There was an empty box on his desk, on top of his paperwork. On the side, in large black letters, was the command of "PACK NOW. YOU'RE LEAVING".


	7. Chapter 7

Greg suddenly felt faint. He wondered if he was actually going to vomit. Sacked. He was bloody sacked...

"Excuse me, sorry!" A blond woman dressed in a crisp blue business suit plucked the box from his desk. "Sorry about that. I'd placed it here for a second and forgot about it." 

"Oh." Greg stared at her, feeling stupid. "I thought..."

"Good god! I am so sorry...that must have given you quite the scare." She pointed to the box. "That was a message to myself. I'd taken care of everything before I left my previous job but was avoiding packing my desk. It got to the point where I had to give myself a hard time." She smiled and stuck out her hand. "Detective Inspector Karen Hudson."

Relief flooded Greg's senses. "It's great to meet you. I'm Detective Sergeant Greg Lestrade."

"Excellent!" Inspector Hudson pointed to the office behind her. "Let's get acquainted, shall we?"

They went into her office and exchanged backgrounds and philosophies, with Karen asking what made him decide to become a detective, his goals, and pet peeves. Karen Hudson was obviously tough, but also kind hearted and funny. Greg liked her immediately.

"Now." She sat forward and clasped her hands. "There are some things I'd like to discuss, but first I'd like to be completely honest with you."

Greg nodded. "Sure."

"I don't intend to get in your personal life and naturaly I'd ask that you return the favor. However, experience has taught me that certain items are best discussed up front to prevent future problems." Karen cleared her throat. "I am happily married for six years now to another woman. I do not anticipate seeing my wife - Mia - around the station, but I might reference her in conversation or have pictures of us in my office."

Greg smiled. "It's not a problem at all. In fact, I'm, um..."

Karen held up a hand. "Please don't feel that you have to share your private life with me, Lestrade. The only time I will pry is if I see personal issues affecting your performance."

"No, it's...well, I guess it's work-related, at this point. Inspector Spalling said some things to me..." Greg sighed. "Got to fill out that report. But yeah, I'm bisexual. Spalling made some comments about people discussing it..."

Karen's eyes narrowed. "I would like to make it clear that even if I was not homosexual, I would not tolerate such language in my station. And yes, you have a report to file, as well as a meeting with myself and Chief Superintendent Devers regarding Nick Spalling's behavior and treatment of cases. Then you and I are going to lunch, and do not bother reaching for the check, Lestrade. The only time you may treat me to lunch is on my birthday, which is not today. Now..." She stood and picked up a notebook. "Let's go meet with Devers, shall we?"

×××××××××××

The meeting with Devers was nerve-wracking, but Greg felt soothed by Karen's presence and Devers's reassurances that there were not any indications of wrongdoing on Greg's part.

"An inspector speaking with disdain on the subject of a minor's rights is contemptuous and appalling." Devers's lips curled with disgust. "I am relieved that you had the boy's welfare in consideration, Lestrade. If you were of the same character as Spalling, this station would have quite a bit to answer for, and rightly so."

Greg nodded, thinking to himself that Mycroft would never let things go very far if that was the case. "I agree, sir."

"I also understand that there has been some animosity toward you, Lestrade." Devers lifted his gaze to Greg. "Tell us what has happened."

Greg shifted uncomfortably as Karen turned to him expectantly. Something told him to brush it off, keep it as quiet as possible and handle things himself. There weren't too many other inspectors who were courteous to him, but he didn't think anything good would come out of whinging about being called "pretty". Maybe this whole thing would pass as Karen settled into her position. It certainly wouldn't help his reputation as a snitch if he went crying to his superiors. 

Remembering Penny's frightened eyes and Mycroft's look of concern brought him back to reality. "Well...there was an incident yesterday with my car. And I've heard of a few people having an issue with me, thinking I had Spalling sacked." Greg cleared his throat. "I've never had too much of a problem with Nick until recently - since the whole thing with Sherlock."

"Sherlock?" Karen frowned. 

"Mycroft Holmes's brother." Devers exchanged a look with Karen that Greg couldn't decipher. 

"...Yes. And, actually, speaking of Sherlock, I thought he'd do well in the Fast Track program. I know he's rather young, but he's extremely bright and is quite interested. I've talked about it with Mycroft and he's in agreement with me. I promised him last night that I'd work on getting the paperwork ready for Sherlock, so we can all go over it together. Go over the requirements, that sort of thing."

Devers looked at Greg as if he just told him that he time traveled on the weekends. "You... personally spoke with Mycroft Holmes last night?"

Greg bit back a smile. "Yes, sir. We've been talking."

Devers nodded slowly. "Yes. Well." He cleared his throat. "I will have you speak with Allison Chambers, who is the head of the program. She will supply you with the necessary documents and information." 

"Thank you, sir." Greg filed away the Superintendent's reaction for later speculation. 

"It looks as though you've not been involved in training the constables." Devers frowned at his notes. "Spalling had you mostly involved with paperwork and some staffing issues, but we're going to need to see more leadership from you if you're going to advance, Lestrade." He motioned to Karen. "I've already met with Inspector Hudson and we're going to be implementing some changes in that regard."

Greg's heart started pounding. "Yes sir. That would be...I'd like that, sir."

"Good." Devers looked him over, giving a searching curious expression before it settled into something unreadable. "Now. Let's discuss exactly what happened yesterday. Walk us through your day and describe what happened to your vehicle."

×××××××××××

After the meeting, Greg had lunch with Karen, which was far more calming than he thought it would be. They went to a small bistro and sat in the corner where they could talk privately. Karen bluntly stated that any harrassment Greg was subjected to would be discovered, and those responsible would be punished to the fullest extent. She also echoed Devers's assessment that Greg needed to have a more hands on approach to leadership duties. They eventually covered lighter topics, like favorite shows and food preferences, and when it was over, Greg felt completely at ease.

He had time before he had to get back to work, so when they arrived back at the station Greg had a quick smoke and checked his phone. There were a ton of messages, all from the same person. 

**I trust you have the paperwork completed. -SH**

**Why have you not responded? You will converse with me on this. I refuse to be a pawn between you and my brother! -SH**

**I am BORED, Lestrade. -SH**

**I shall take extreme measures if you continue to ignore me! -SH**

"Good Lord." Greg could only laugh. The kid was so eager to start work as a detective that it was driving him mad. Still, Greg did not want to find out what Sherlock meant by "extreme measures". He quickly sent the boy a text.

_I see your brother has given you back your phone. I'm getting things ready for you, but shouldn't you be in school?? Stop texting in class!_

The response came almost immediately. 

**The only things my brother has given me are numerous headaches and a fear of entering any space that is occupied by him and cake. As for my schooling, it is laughable at best. You must assist with my extrication from it. -SH**

_Leave the Fast Track stuff to me and your brother. You still have to finish school to even get a job like this or complete the program._

Greg waited for a scathing reply, and only got one word back.

**Dull. -SH**

Greg snickered and was about to put his phone away when he got another text.

**_My brother has found his phone, which I had thought I'd hidden carefully, but alas, I was incorrect in my assumption. I've received word that Ms. Chambers will be meeting with you later today. Perhaps you and I can discuss further developments later this evening, possibly over dinner? -M_ **

Greg bit his lower lip but was unable to stop his grin. _That sounds great. I was going to pick up my car from the shop after work tonight. Should I pick you up, or do you want to meet somewhere?_ His pulse quickened as he waited for Mycroft's response.

**_If it pleases you, you may bring your car to our home. We can go over the paperwork with my brother either before or after dinner. -M_ **

Before dinner, Greg thought. If they had a moment like the one in Mycroft's study before Sherlock's text interrupted them, Greg was going to find a way to invite Mycroft to his flat for a drink. Plus if they had plenty of time after dinner, they could relax on the couch, get comfortable...and maybe Greg could help Mycroft find interesting ways to pass the time together.

 _I'll see you around seven, then._ Greg smiled to himself before sending another message. _I can't wait. :)_

When he got back in, Karen was waiting. "Duty calls, Lestrade. A teenage girl, broken neck, found at the bottom of the stairs. Some of her friends are saying she fell, others are claiming she was pushed. We're going to the incident room and then we'll head to the scene."

×××××××××××

At some point after they'd interviewed witnesses and spoken to endless parents and lawyers, they got a confession out of a former best friend who'd only meant to "give Kelly a little shove".

A kind soul at the station got sandwiches delivered and Greg managed to finish one, then looked at the time. Six thirty, and loads of paperwork to start on.

"Shit." Greg took a moment to send Mycroft a quick text. _Sorry, got a last minute case. Won't be able to make it there by 7:00._

He was surprised by a quick reply. **_I was just working on sending you my regrets that I had been called away to several unannounced meetings today, and would therefore be unable to honor our agreement of having dinner together this evening. -M_**

Hmm. This was new - usually Greg had to soothe hurt feelings over cancelled plans due to police work. It wasn't unusual for those hurt feelings to transform into anger in the form of crying girlfriends and memorably, one boyfriend hurling a plate of spaghetti at Greg's head.

The idea with being with someone who understood dedication to work was incredibly attractive. 

He stifled a grin and typed a response. _I guess I read your mind, then._

**_That would be...rather interesting. -M_ **

Greg managed not to reply with something filthy and put his phone away before someone noticed.

Karen complimented Greg on his interviewing skills and promised to talk with him the next morning about developing a training program for the constables. He left her office feeling excited and optimistic. He'd never felt like that after meeting with Nick.

An older woman approached him at his desk, holding a packet in one hand and extending the other. "Detective Sergeant Lestrade? I'm Allison Chambers"

He set down his notebook and shook her hand, impressed with her firm grip. "Yes, good to meet you."

She smiled. "I understand you have a candidate interested in the Fast Track program. May I briefly go over the paperwork with you? It will be expedited once we receive the necessary signatures."

"Oh. Excellent." Greg wondered just how much everyone already knew about the Holmes brothers.

"Most of this has been handled already" Allison assured him. "I understand you are planning to get the signatures tonight?"

 _Oh._ "I hope to, yes. Just need to, um, change some plans."

"Excellent." Allison adjusted her glasses. "I've marked the pages needing signatures of the applicant, the guardian, as well as yours, being the recommending officer."

Greg made a note to mention that to Mycroft so that Sherlock would have more incentive to behave while attending the program. "Right. Thank you. I'll just need to make arrangements to see about getting this signed tonight."

"No rush, but the sooner we can get the process started, the sooner we can have your candidate get into the next group."

"Of course. When does the next group start their classes?"

Allison smiled. "Whenever you turn in your paperwork."

Greg stared at her. "You're...waiting on Sherlock to join before you let the group start the program?"

"Oh, it's a bit of a numbers thing," Allison said breezily, but Greg wasn't fooled. By now he knew the Holmes name carried a lot of weight. It was still pretty fucking scary.

After he promised to get his plans together, Greg texted Mycroft. _Is now a good time to call?_

Greg busied himself with organizing his desk while waiting for Mycroft's reply. When it came, he grabbed the phone and stepped into the stairwell for some privacy.

**_You may call now. I am currently alone. -M_ **

As arousing as that message was, Greg wasn't about to engage in phone sex at work. He took a deep breath and dialed Mycroft's number. 

"Gregory." That voice was _incredible_.

"Hey." Greg bit his lip. "Sorry about tonight."

"It is quite all right, as you know I've had to deal with my own commitments. My brother, however, is quite eager to begin the process of implementing himself into the Fast Track program, and I fear if he doesn't have a form of resolution tonight, he may very well become rabid."

Greg chuckled. "Foaming at the mouth, eh? Can't have that." He ran his tongue over his teeth. "Maybe it would be best if I stopped over after work. I have the paperwork ready."

Mycroft hummed. "I do agree that would be a most beneficial course of action."

"I'll text you when I'm leaving work then." Greg murmured.

"I look forward to it," Mycroft purred. 

Greg took a few deep breaths before leaving the stairwell. Paperwork. Meetings. Files. Work. Concentration. Once he got the appropriate mindset, he made his way back to his desk.

×××××××××××

It was just nearing nine o'clock when Greg headed out. He spotted Penny and jogged to catch up with her.

"Lestrade." She gave him a sad smile. "Glad that one didn't drag out. God, those poor parents..." She shook her head. "Never get used it. Hope I never will."

"Definitely." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Hey, those constables you overheard talking about me...did you see who they were?"

"No. I could tell they were constables by the way they were talking... generally mentioning other ranks, you know? I didn't hear them calling each other by name, but they were both men." Penny took a deep breath. "I mentioned it to Karen. I know you said you'd talk to her, but I wanted her to hear this directly from me."

"No, it's fine. I did talk to her, Devers too. They're going to have me training constables soon. I guess we'll see if the ones you heard will be a part of that group."

Her sad smile returned. "Just be careful, Greg. Promise me that."

"I swear it." Greg smiled and patted her shoulder. "Go home. Get some rest. We did good work today."

"We did." Penny gave him a friendly punch on his arm and got in her car.

Greg headed to David's car. "Thanks for the ride, mate."

"No problem." David gave him a curious look. "Are you sure you want me to drop you off at the shop? They'll probably be closed by now."

"I got a message for them saying they're staying open for me." 

David grinned. "The work of your posh friend, I'm sure."

Greg smirked. "Maybe, yeah."

After he got his car (which had new tires and was cleaned top to bottom), the shop owner waved him off, telling him there was no charge. Greg talked him into taking a tip and drove towards the Holmes mansion. 

Once past the gates and parked, Greg grabbed the paperwork and went to the front door. He rang the doorbell, his heart pounding like mad. He briefly wondered if he should have brought flowers. 

He expected a butler to answer the door, but heard a slight commotion. Muffled voices, arguing.

"...waddle down the stairs like..."

"Behave yourself! I'll not be embarrassed..."

"...here for me, but you've been preening in front of the mirror, as if preparing yourself for..."

"Hush! I will confiscate your phone and your entire private library!"

Sherlock shrieked something about fat cells and Greg managed to bite back an amused grin before the door opened.


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft opened the door, looking impeccable in a black suit with a dark blue shirt, the top two buttons undone. The dark hue of the shirt contrasted well with the light blue of his eyes, which were wide and shining. He looked a bit anxious and even a little nervous, but with the lack of a tie and his slightly tousled hair (possibly from fussing with it as he argued with his brother), he still looked amazing. 

No...not amazing.

_Gorgeous._

When Mycroft's eyes widened even more and he gasped, Greg realized with horror that he'd just called Mycroft gorgeous.

Out loud.

"You simply must be joking." Sherlock's droll voice snapped Greg out of his mortified status. 

"Er. Hi. That is." Greg could feel his face warming and fixed his gaze on the wall behind Sherlock. He could not look either Holmes in the eye. Instead, he held up the paperwork and cleared his throat. "Need to sign these."

"Yes, good." Sherlock stepped forward and held out his hand. "This is the actual purpose for your visit, so let's begin."

Mycroft seemed dazed but stepped back, letting Greg into the house. Sherlock waved his hand impatiently for the packet. "Let me sign the forms so that the process can begin. I am quite tired of the tediousness of my classes."

Greg smiled. "You realize a lot of detective work is filling out forms and paperwork, right?"

"I will hire an assistant for that."

"I can only imagine your interview techniques." Greg snickered as Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. "Well, in the meantime, all three of us have to sign these."

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Yes...I have prepared the study for us."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stomped down the hall. Greg and Mycroft followed him at a slight distance. 

"Um." Greg tried not to wince. "So, um. Sorry again about tonight. Dinner, I mean."

"Yes. As am I." Mycroft still seemed a bit stunned. 

"So...I've got a new inspector."

"Excellent. I hear Karen Hudson is an exemplary detective."

Greg smirked. "Did you have anything to do with her getting the job?"

Mycroft turned and gave him a serious look. "No. I did, however, stress the need for someone who contrasted Inspector Spalling's traits. Phillip agreed with me."

"Commissioner Irving, you mean."

Mycroft smirked. "Yes."

Greg smiled and shook his head. "How do you...know people? Get things done?"

His answer came in the form of a raised eyebrow. "I do believe you exaggerate my influence, Detective Sergeant."

"And I still say you're a man of mystery." Greg gave him a sideways look. "Luckily I specialize in mysteries."

"Indeed you do." Mycroft gave him a little smile, and Greg's heart fluttered a bit.

"Do not dawdle!" Sherlock snapped, glaring at them from the door to the study. "I have specimens to examine upstairs. I'll not have my work upended by your combined indolence!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and strolled into the study. Greg lingered back a bit to appreciate the view and then followed him.

The fireplace was crackling, and a couple of glasses were set out on the table with a decanter. Sherlock stood next to the table with his arms crossed, tapping his foot. Greg managed not to smile at his clear impatience and placed the paperwork on the table in front of him. "Right. Let's get started."

Sherlock huffed and fussed a bit while being told of the restrictions of the program. Greg and Mycroft emphasized that Sherlock would be attending on Greg's recommendation and this quieted the teen, who stared down at the papers and pursed his lips.

"Gary..."

"Greg."

"Yes. You have not answered my previous question about experimentation with corpses."

"Well, you won't be able to experiment with dead people, but there's a trip to the morgue and you'll get to visit a body farm."

Sherlock's eyes lit up, but then he scowled. "Must I associate myself with other students? I do not have the patience or the desire to debase myself so that I must interact with the ignorant public."

Mycroft sighed but Greg just chuckled. "It's not the public, Sherlock, it's medical students, and a few students interested in homicide detective work. But mostly it's students interested in becoming doctors or getting a job in forensics. So they'll be excited about going to see dead bodies too."

The tiny smile from the boy made Greg's day. He was hoping Sherlock would make some friends. It would probably be useless to hope that there would be other kids just like Sherlock - the boy was remarkably intelligent, and incredibly tempestuous - but there should be kids who wouldn't balk at his eccentricities and could appreciate his brilliance. Plus, he was interesting, and funny. Sherlock had a lot going for him, and maybe having friends would soothe some of his frustrations.

When they finished signing and going over the information, Sherlock loudly proclaimed his desire to leave and flounced off, leaving Mycroft and Greg by themselves. 

"Well." Greg looked around the room, and noticed that two chairs were placed opposite each other in front of the fireplace. He smiled and motioned to the glasses. "Is one of those for me?"

Mycroft smiled. "Yes."

"I was hoping so." Greg tried to discreetly take a deep breath. He'd never felt so nervous and flustered around someone before. It wasn't just Mycroft's incredible looks, although that certainly didn't hurt. There was a profound kindness and generosity in the man. He was brilliant, powerful, and he used those resources to help his brother, and to ensure Greg's safety. 

Greg wanted to know everything about Mycroft Holmes. 

"Shall we?" Mycroft gestured to the chairs and gave him a small smile. He looked bashful. It was a very endearing look for him. 

They settled into the plush leather chairs by the fire and Greg took a sip of the brandy Mycroft had poured for him and closed his eyes. This was absolute bliss. 

"Do you like it?" Mycroft murmured, and Greg smiled, keeping his eyes closed. God, that voice was sexy.

"It's incredible."

"It is one of my favorites. The scent of chocolate and fruit, the taste of cinnamon and vanilla...I find it rather intoxicating."

Greg squirmed a bit in his chair. "You have excellent taste."

"Mmm." 

"Are we celebrating?" Greg opened his eyes and glanced at the other man.

"I'd say so." That playful glint was back in those beautiful blue eyes. 

"Hmm." Greg set his glass on the table and stretched, then settled back further into his chair with a sigh. "It's good to relax."

"Agreed." Mycroft set his glass down as well and gave Greg a careful look. "I want to assure you that I did not speak to Commissioner Irving to personally influence your work environment. When Sherlock had told me of Inspector Spalling's behavior toward him, I was compelled to research the man. Even if we were not acquainted, I would be obligated to secure a more suitable inspector for your department."

Greg smiled at him. "I believe you." 

Mycroft noticably relaxed and picked up his glass. "I am quite relieved to hear that."

"I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Yes?"

Greg looked around the room. He imagined the last time Mycroft was in here, drinking brandy by himself until Greg called to apologize for being an arse. "You mentioned that you had ensured my safety after that business with my car."

"Right." Mycroft took another sip. "There are... internal issues with your department. The entire force, actually. Rumors of corruption, bribery, drug abuse, consorting with criminals..."

"Christ!"

"Spalling was not the worst of them, I'm afraid. My attentions were directed elsewhere, but after what had happened to Sherlock, I have looked into local matters."

Greg stared at him in shock. "Who...?"

Mycroft frowned. "I have not been able to pinpoint anyone in particular except Spalling and Frederick Quarry."

"Shit."

"They are not alone, but finding the precise individuals has been more difficult than I had anticipated."

Greg gulped down a large amount of brandy and shuddered. "But you have...I'm being guarded?"

Mycroft bit his lower lip. "Yes. Nothing intrusive, of course, but I have employed a few family bodyguards to ensure that you are kept safe."

"Bodyguards."

"Yes." Mycroft finished what was left of his drink and reached to pour himself some more. Greg held out his own glass and raised it to him when it was half full again. 

"Well. Erm. Thank you." Greg drank more of the delicious liquor and shuddered again. "It's fucking scary. Being followed, threatened...you don't expect that from other officers."

Mycroft hummed. "I suppose being a man of integrity does result in the occasional, if not frequent, shock at the often appalling nature of humanity, specifically of those meant to be virtuous."

Greg chuckled. "Meaning 'get used to other people being arseholes'?"

"Mmhmm." Mycroft smirked and took another sip. "The department is quite fortunate to have you, Gregory."

_Want **you** to have me._ A vision of Mycroft bending him over the table nearly made Greg moan out loud. He managed to suppress it and took a few more drinks of the brandy. When he risked a look at Mycroft, the desire in the other man's eyes made his pulse quicken.

"I am..." Mycroft's eyes ran over Greg's body. "I am rather...satisfied to see such a contrast from my brother's exaggerations."

Greg blinked at him in confusion. "Exaggeration?"

"I was certain you were a fabrication of his, until we met at the school. He had told me that you were a stout man, with a noticeably large overbite and a clubfoot."

"Oh, Christ." Greg snickered. "Well. He told me you were fat, so clearly he needs to work on his descriptions if he's going to be a detective."

Mycroft sighed. "I was rather portly as a child, and in Sherlock's eyes, I shall always be so."

"Hmm." Greg let his eyes do some roaming of their own, taking in the other man's lithe and long figure. "I can tell you right now that you look fucking fantastic in my eyes."

The stunned look that followed his comment nearly made Greg start giggling. It was probably the brandy, but fuck it. "I'm serious. Probably making a fool of myself right now, but...yeah." Greg finished what was in his glass and set it down, giving the other man a direct stare.

Mycroft swallowed and set his own glass down. "I would be rather ungentlemanly if I did not mention that we have imbibed more than I had thought we would."

"It was delicious." Greg kept his gaze on Mycroft and ran his tongue along his upper teeth. 

"I..." Mycroft blatantly stared at him. "I can...if you would like..."

"Tell me," Greg murmured.

Mycroft closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "I can have a car take you home, as you may not be suitable for driving."

Greg hummed and let his head fall back against the chair. "Or I can just spend the night here."

Mycroft's eyes flew open and he stared at him in shock. His look of astonishment quickly became one of lust as he returned Greg's intense gaze. 

_Oh fuck. This is happening._

"You..." Mycroft braced his hands against the arms of the chair. He was about to stand. Greg sat up, unsure if he should stand as well or if Mycroft meant to straddle him.

The lights suddenly flickered. Greg wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the heady feeling of arousal affecting him, but Mycroft paused as well, looking around the room in confusion.

_Thud. Thud. BANG._

Mycroft and Greg exchanged a shocked look and then looked up, towards Sherlock's room.

Something crashed, and then the teen screamed "Fuck!"

Mycroft was out of his chair and running immediately. Greg ran after him, dodging furniture and statues. His unfamiliarity with the house and his alcohol-laden state made him stumble a bit as he hurried up the stairs. Mycroft leapt for his brother's door, lurched it open, and fled inside. Greg was right behind him.

The room was covered in blood. White walls were splattered. Red, gory chunks dripped down the lamp on the nightstand next to the boy's bed. 

Greg looked around in shock. Pieces of...flesh...were all over Sherlock's desk and bed. A wired device sat on the desk, smoking and twitching. It fell to the floor, fizzling a bit, then sparked and died out. Smoke was starting to fill the room with a strangely familiar smell. 

And in the midst of all of this, the stunned teenager stood, staring at his brother and blinking rapidly.

"I... miscalculated..."

Mycroft gasped his brother's name and stepped forward, taking his face in his hands and examining him. "Are you hurt? What happened? What was that noise?"

Sherlock stared at him, still dumbfounded. "Miscalculation. Electrical currents... skin..."

_"Skin?"_

"Not my skin" Sherlock insisted. "Can't use human skin. Used...a substitute."

Greg looked around the room and sniffed the air. "Is that...?"

"Good god." Mycroft looked around and cautiously stepped toward something shiny on the floor. Red, glistening, with pieces of yellow. A jaw. "Was...were you..."

"The cook said I could take the pig's head" Sherlock snapped, his face turning a shade of crimson. "I admit I miscalculated the amount of voltage..."

"A pig's head!" Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "I cannot begin to fathom..."

"I was working! Gordon said I cannot experiment on corpses..."

_"His name is Gregory!"_

"It doesn't matter!"

_"His name does matter!"_

"In the context of this situation..."

Greg's snort made them both pause.

"You..." Greg rubbed his mouth. "You... Sherlock, you blew up a pig."

The brothers stared at him.

Greg began giggling. "You blew up a bloody pig, Sherlock." He snorted again, and gave into his laughter. "Oh my god, you blew up a pig!"

Sherlock tutted. "I do not see how this is..."

"You've got pig bits in your hair!"

The boy's eyes became wide and he patted at his head. 

Greg was shaking with laughter but he managed to walk over and pulled a piece of charred pork from a tangled curl. He held it in front of the boy and waved it around. "Go on, have a snack."

Mycroft snickered and immediately held a fist to his mouth. "Gregory, I...I do not think that would be wise."

"It's cooked! Very cooked... practically bacon." 

Sherlock pursed his lips. "It's not funny."

"It's bloody hilarious!"

"It is not!"

"You in charge of breakfast tomorrow, then? Going to shoot eggs out of a cannon? Create a tornado of orange juice?"

Mycroft was shaking as well now, his face turning red.

Sherlock bit at his lips but his mouth still curled into a smile. "You are a silly man, Lestrade."

"I'm not the one with pork in his hair, mate." Greg picked out another piece. "Let's get this crime scene clean, shall we?"

Mycroft fetched a few bin bags and the three of them picked up what remained of the pig's head. He handed a few towels to his brother and instructed him to clean the walls and furniture, which Sherlock did with a scowl. Greg helped the boy and opened the windows to let out the smell of burnt pork. Once they were finished, Mycroft ordered Sherlock to shower and to place his blood splattered clothes into a bin bag.

"We might be able to get the smell out, but if not, we shall destroy them" Mycroft declared as he handed the bag over with a look of disgust. "When you are finished cleaning off the remnants of swine carcass, we shall discuss the banishment of electrocuting any sort of matter in this house."

Sherlock grunted and shuffled into the washroom, tugging at his curls. 

Mycroft sighed and looked around the room. "He cannot sleep in here tonight. I will have the cleaning staff do a more thorough job tomorrow. Plus that...smell must be fully dissipated before the room is fit to be occupied."

Greg gave him a small smile. "Just be careful with your brother, okay?"

"Careful?" Mycroft looked at him in astonishment. "Have you already forgotten the wreckage we have just scoured?"

"No, I'll not be forgetting that any time soon. I mean he's embarrassed, Mycroft. He's a kid and he clearly holds your opinion in high regard..."

The other man scoffed. "My brother does not in any way..."

"Oh, yes he does." Greg fixed him with a direct stare. "It's bloody obvious he looks up to you. Hell, he might have been doing this to impress you. He wants to prove that he's able to gain your respect."

Mycroft gaped at him. "By blowing up a pig?"

"By doing crazy experiments, placing himself in danger so he could get your attention." Greg frowned, remembering something. "He was upset that you didn't come to the station to pick him up that night."

"You cannot be serious."

"I am. He said you were too busy with your internship."

Mycroft pursed his lips, looking very much like his younger brother. "Well, I had not anticipated such a call from my brother, and therefore I was not going to be able to shift my meeting with Prime Minister Trudeau, so I could not very well..."

"Whoa." Greg held his hand up. "Are you serious? The prime minister of Canada?"

"Oh..." Mycroft went a bit pale. "Well...that is...we had a telephone conference scheduled..."

"Good Christ." Greg huffed out a nervous laugh and ran his hand through his hair. "You're kind of scary, you know that?" He regretted his statement as soon as he saw the other man's face fall into a devasted expression. "Fuck. No, I didn't mean..."

"It's quite all right." Mycroft seemed to settle into an aloof appearance, his shoulders set back, face blank, eyes cool and unemotional. It was the same look he'd had in the car park when they'd discovered Greg's ruined car, after Greg had shouted at him. 

"Mycroft." Greg stepped forward. "Hey. I'm sorry. That was fucking rude of me."

"It's fine..."

"No." Greg took Mycroft's hands in his. "No, don't do that. Look at me."

Those grayish blue eyes that captivated Greg since the moment he saw them gazed at him. Greg stared back, nearly speechless. He ran his thumbs over Mycroft's knuckles and felt the other man shiver.

"Mycroft," Greg murmured. "I...You're amazing. I'd be lying if I said that I'm not bloody intimidated by you, but...I'm not afraid of you. I want..." Greg took a deep breath, his heart pounding. Just being near this man made him dizzy, and to be _touching_ him....

It was almost too much.

"You want...?" Mycroft asked softly, stepping forward. His eyes lowered and he licked his lips.

_Oh god._ Greg squeezed his hands. "Want to..."

"Your combined whispering is disturbing my thought process!" Sherlock shouted from the washroom. The door opened and the robed teenager glared at them. "And why are you holding hands?"

Greg sighed and stepped away from Mycroft. "We were just talking. Did you wash all the pig out of your hair?"

"Of course I did! A ludicrous question."

"What sort of thought process were you using in there?"

Sherlock huffed. "Obviously I was ruminating on my experiment and how I may improve upon it."

"Obviously." Greg smirked. "So are you going to make breakfast for all of us tomorrow?"

Sherlock frowned. "All of you?"

"Yeah, I'm spending the night here."

The boy's eyes widened in shock, which made him look even younger. He looked at his older brother, who cleared his throat. 

"Gregory will be sleeping in the Rose Bedchamber located adjacent to the Blue Room, which is where you will be staying tonight as this room must be thoroughly cleaned before you can occupy it again. I will ask that you do not keep our guest awake with experiments or loud music."

"Loud music?" Greg smirked at the boy. "Going to blast some Metallica to wake me up, are you?"

Sherlock squinted at him. "I was not planning to conduct any experiments involving elements, compounds, or alloys."

"Okay, I am going to have you borrow my copy of Kill 'Em All."

"It sounds delightful." Sherlock squawked as Greg tousled his wet hair. "Ack! Why are you staying here?"

"It's late, and I've...well, we drank more than we probably should have."

Mycroft looked abashed as Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. "I see."

Greg shrugged. "It happens. At any rate, I'm going to bed now, I've gotta get back to my flat early tomorrow so I can change. Maybe get a quick shower so my new boss doesn't think I live on a pig farm."

"I shall wake you at dawn" Sherlock declared. "You may assist me in securing another specimen." 

"You'll not disturb Gregory tonight or tomorrow." Mycroft held a hand up before his brother could protest. "Now, as to the manner of your specimens, clearly you are not to perform any similar experiments in this house from now on. I will speak to Allison Chambers tomorrow about securing a proper space for you to possibly work with donated biological matter. I will also look into building a separate laboratory space on our estate."

Sherlock's eyes lit up with joy, and Greg smiled at Mycroft, whose expression became grave. "You simply cannot perform such experiments as you did tonight, however. If you insist on something similar, it will be done in a proper laboratory with a team of scientists." Mycroft's jaw clenched. "If..." He swallowed and breathed deeply. "If I lost you as well, little brother, I would not...I could not bear it."

Sherlock blinked and nodded, looking away. Greg wanted to shout at them to hug already, but then something buzzed. 

"Sorry." He pulled out his phone and sighed. "Low battery."

"I will find a charger. Let me show you to your room for the night." Mycroft led him down the hall and gestured at a room decked in navy blue wallpaper. "This is the Blue Room, where Sherlock will be staying tonight. And here..." Mycroft opened the door to the room next to it. "The Rose Bedchamber."

Greg stepped inside and his jaw dropped. A large king sized bed with an elegant walnut frame sat proudly in the middle of the room, with a fluffy red duvet and a mountain of pillows. Light taupe wallpaper with a rose pattern made the dark vanity stand out dramatically. 

It was like something out of Buckingham Palace.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "I shall return soon with a charger for your phone. I must also tend to extinguishing the fireplace in the study." With that, he turned and left.

Sherlock grunted and gave Greg a searching look. "He supplied you with an excess of alcohol."

"We were just going to have a quick drink, but then we started talking, and then you blew up a pig." Greg raised his eyebrows. "Are you trying to guard my honor?"

"Another ludicrous question! You seem fond of them." Sherlock shifted his weight. "Are you...you do not have sleepwear."

"I'll be fine." Greg smiled. 

Sherlock nodded, his gaze wandering everywhere but avoiding Greg. "My brother is...he is quite fond of you."

Nothing could stop the huge grin that came from hearing that. "Yeah?"

"Yes. He becomes rather flustered when you are mentioned, and he was irritatingly agitated before your arrival tonight."

Greg laughed softly. "Well, that's good to know. I like him as well. Very much so."

"Obviously." Sherlock briefly smiled, but then scowled. "You will not engage in any sort of coitus when I am nearby! If I hear anything resembling intimacy I will not be able to cease vomiting and will die in a puddle of my own bile!"

"Good god! No! We're not..." Greg rolled his eyes. "I promise to keep my hands to myself tonight."

"Disgusting! I also do not wish to hear you engaging in self pleasure!"

"Sherlock, will you calm down? I'm tired, I'm going to sleep. You need sleep too, so calm down and get in bed."

The boy scoffed and turned on his heel, flouncing into the Blue Room and slamming the door.

"Christ." Greg closed his own door and looked longingly at the bed. He was ready to dive into it and sink into all that softness, let his exhaustion carry him to sleep...

A gentle knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Greg swallowed down his anxiousness of seeing Mycroft again and went to open the door.


	9. Chapter 9

"Good evening." Mycroft smiled somewhat bashfully and held up a charger. 

"Thanks." Greg took it and put it in his pocket with a smirk. "I was going to say that we have the same phone, but I'm guessing you have chargers for all sorts of phones, don't you?"

"Yes, in the study. If meetings are conducted here, which does happen on occasion, it is beneficial to be prepared for all manner of devices."

"Of course." Greg glanced at the wall separating his room from Sherlock's. "I'd invite you in, but I think we'd have some interference."

Mycroft's mouth quirked upward. "I agree." He began fiddling with his father's ring again. "There's a robe in the top dresser if you would like something to sleep in."

"Thank you, yeah. I'll do that." Greg shifted his weight. "So...we should try for dinner again. Or drinks at mine, if dinner doesn't work out."

Mycroft's amorous gaze made Greg tightly grip the door frame. "I would like that very much."

"Yeah." Greg could feel the effects of exhaustion start to pull at him. "We should...get some rest."

"Of course." Mycroft nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait." 

Mycroft stopped and looked at Greg in surprise. "Is there something you need?"

"Yes." Greg's heart was racing but he didn't care. "There is, yeah."

The other man stepped forward and looked Greg over, curious. "What can I do for you?"

"Come here," Greg whispered. 

Mycroft's eyes widened and he looked at the door to the Blue Room. "I...don't know if we should..."

"Just for a second." Greg reached out to him. "Come here." 

It seemed like minutes, but it was only seconds before Mycroft stood in front of him again. Greg knew it was reckless, and that they would be interrupted if anything started to happen, but he had to do this. He had to touch him again.

"Wanted to say goodnight properly," Greg murmured, and placed his hands on Mycroft's sides. The other man jumped and Greg looked into his eyes. "Is this all right?"

Mycroft nodded, his hands settling on Greg's shoulders. He was slightly shaking. "What are you...?"

"Want to say goodnight." Greg moved closer and wrapped his arms around Mycroft, nuzzling into his neck. The smell of him nearly made Greg dizzy. He didn't know if it was aftershave, or cologne, but the man smelled intoxicating. Dark and musky, but something sweet and spicy underneath. Like stepping into the woods and breathing in the surrounding air.

Mycroft shivered, and pulled Greg closer. His fingertips played with the nape of Greg's neck, making Greg shiver as well.

"You have no idea, do you?" Greg whispered, unable to stop himself. "How appealing you are. How gorgeous."

Mycroft took in a long shaking breath. "Gregory...you...you might still be feeling the effects of the brandy."

"Mmm, no. It's not that." Greg rubbed his nose along Mycroft's neck. "It's you."

"We..." Mycroft shivered again. "I..."

Greg was about to ask Mycroft to lead them to his bedroom when a series of slams and mutterings from next door made him pause. "Ah. Well. Hence the need for drinks at mine."

"Yes." Mycroft pressed his lips against Greg's neck. "Goodnight, Gregory."

Greg tightened his hold on him and breathed him in. "Goodnight, Mycroft." He kissed his ear and forced himself to look away before closing the door. Greg leaned his forehead against it, taking deep breaths.

"...can hear you whispering! It is most obscene!"

"...two grown men! I do not need your permission..."

"I am going to vomit! I shall purge my entire digestive system!"

_"Get into bed at once!"_

Stomps, then a squeak of springs as a body hurled itself onto a bed, followed by an exasperated sigh and a gentle closing of a door. 

Greg chuckled and headed to the drawer, where he found a red silk robe. He slowly undressed, placing his clothes on the chair by the vanity. When the robe slid over his skin, the memory of Mycroft's body against his made him briefly consider a quick wank, but then Sherlock's light snoring from the next room demolished the mood.

The bed was as soft as it looked. Greg crawled under the covers, sighing happily at being enveloped by plush warmth. It didn't take long for him to succumb to a deep sleep.

×××××××××××

When his phone buzzed at 5:30, Greg thought he'd accidentally clicked on a classical playlist when he realized the music was coming from the next room.

 _This is what Mycroft meant by blasting loud music_. Greg smiled into the pillow and stretched.

He managed to coax himself out of bed and into the en suite, helping himself to an unopened toothbrush under the sink. After washing his face and deciding that he didn't look too terrible, Greg headed out to see if Mycroft was awake.

When he opened the door, an envelope with his name on it was propped against the wall. The letter inside had some of the most beautiful penmanship Greg had ever seen, but it was hardly surprising, considering the source.

_  
Gregory,_

_Once again I must express my regrets, as I have been called away for matters that require my full attention. I do not know when I will be available, but rest assured that I shall endeavor to contact you as soon as possible._

_I cannot thank you enough for the wonderful influence you have been on my brother. In such a short amount of time, you have vastly improved his life, and mine as well._

_I will miss you, Gregory. I hope that we may secure some time together when I return._

_Warmest regards,_  
\- Mycroft Holmes  


Greg read it a few times and then placed it carefully on the vanity, knowing he'd read it again that night and probably every night until Mycroft returned.

The music next door stopped. Greg looked up to see a wild-haired Sherlock peeking into his room. "Are you clothed? I do not wish to witness you in any form of undress."

"I'm dressed, it's fine." Greg noticed that the boy was holding something. "Holy Christ, that was you playing that music?"

Sherlock scoffed. "It's called a violin, detective. Sound emits when the bow is placed against the strings like so." He quickly played a beautiful melody, then glared at Greg. "I play to relax my mind."

"You're brilliant at it!"

The boy sniffed. "Naturally. I've been playing since I was a small child."

"I thought you were listening to a music station, or a CD! You could play in a bloody symphony, Sherlock."

"Dull." Sherlock looked around the room and frowned at the vanity. "My brother has gone."

Greg nodded. "I know."

"He told me that he hopes to return in approximately three weeks." 

"...Three weeks."

"Yes. You slept through the helicopter landing. Exactly how much alcohol did you consume last night, Lestrade?"

"A _helicopter_?"

Sherlock sputtered. "Are you to repeat everything I say to you? It is exasperating!"

Greg rubbed his eyes. "Mycroft got into a helicopter this morning and will be gone for three weeks."

"Yes!"

"Where did he go?"

"Finally! A new query, rather than parroting my own words back at me!" The boy turned on his heel and strode into the Blue Room. 

Greg followed him, not allowing himself to be distracted by the opulence and the size of the guest room. "Well?"

"Well what?"

Greg managed not to sputter back at him. "Where is Mycroft?"

"Luxembourg." Sherlock looked around the room and tucked a pillow under his arm. "Breakfast is downstairs. I shall be coming down soon to retrieve my microbial eukaryotes samples." With that, the teenager marched to his room.

"...Right." Greg rubbed at his face again and made his way downstairs, following the smell of food. 

A spread of scones, jams, eggs, and sausage awaited him. Someone had made coffee, and Greg happily poured himself a cup.

"Apparently my brother asked that the cook not prepare bacon this morning" Sherlock stated as he entered the room. He was still wearing his clothes from last night, but he seemed well rested.

"What time did your brother leave?" Greg asked, spooning eggs on to a plate. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Ugh. I told him we should wake you. He insisted that you sleep." The boy slumped into a chair. "He received a call at three a.m., and was gone by four."

"He left by helicopter..."

"Which took him to his jet, which took him into the air, which used a substantial amount of fuel to launch both the weight of the aircraft along with my brother's significant body mass..."

"What's he doing in Luxembourg?" Greg asked, sitting down with his plate of food.

Sherlock sighed and picked up a scone. "Cabinet meeting."

"...What?"

"I know you heard me! The Duke asked for my brother specifically for his assistance with legislation. That's all I have retained on the subject, as it is quite dull. Let us discuss something interesting, like microbiomes in relation to post-mortem interval."

Greg stared at the teenager, his breakfast forgotten. "Sherlock. The Duke of Luxembourg specifically asked for Mycroft's help with his cabinet."

_"Yessssss."_

"...Holy fucking shit."

Sherlock frowned. "My brother said you would panic," he said softly.

"Panic?" Greg tried to slow his breathing. "I'm not panicking, I'm just... overwhelmed."

"You are clearly alarmed." The concerned look in the boy's eyes faded into a cool, detached expression. Greg realized that both brothers had learned to become cool and unemotional when faced with rejection, and it broke his heart.

"I'm...scared, but...truth be told, Sherlock, it's more because when I find out more about Mycroft, and what he can do...it makes me think he'd be, ah...maybe happier with someone more like himself. Someone brilliant, influential."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "There is no one like Mycroft." He picked at his scone and fidgeted. "You...as I said before, my brother is quite fond of you. You are extremely fond of stating obvious facts, but that one seems to escape you. I do also think you underestimate your own power of influence." Sherlock popped a piece of the scone into his mouth and sniffed. "My brother was quite unhappy at the thought of leaving you."

Greg smiled. "Yeah?"

"Quite." Sherlock chewed thoughtfully. "He asked the cook to prepare this breakfast for you. I do not often eat in the morning. Tea is more than sufficient."

"Huh." Greg took another look at the impressive array of breakfast foods. "I guess he wasn't angry about you getting that pig's head."

"On the contrary. Mycroft thought it was a generous move on the cook's part, as it prevented me from experimenting on my own epidermis. He doubled her salary. As a result, I will be getting a bountiful amount of chips while my brother is away." Sherlock smiled, and then sighed. "When do you leave?"

"Eager to get rid of me, yeah?" Greg smirked. "I was going to eat and head to my flat, get a shower. I'm used to getting up early for a morning jog. My shift starts at 7:00...when do you start school?"

Sherlock snorted. "I am not going. Mycroft is not here to enforce my attendance at that charade of a learning institution, so I will be spending my time here, conducting research."

Greg was about to insist on him going to school but then had an idea. "Well, that's too bad. Nevermind, I guess."

"What?" Sherlock looked up from his scone, his eyes narrowed.

Greg shrugged. "Well, I mean... Mycroft has a lot of power, but like you said, I have some influence too. I was going to ask for your insight on something and in exchange, maybe get you access to some things that your brother wouldn't know about, but it would involve getting information from your classmates and teachers, so don't worry about it." Greg took a casual bite of his breakfast and began fiddling with his phone to appear uninterested.

"What sort of access?"

Greg waved his hand in a mimic of Mycroft's and kept his eyes on his phone. "Nothing, don't worry about it."

"What sort of access? Answer me!"

Greg sighed and kept eating his breakfast. "I'm not your brother, all right? I'm not going to make you go to school if you don't want to go."

"I _demand_ that you tell me what sort of access I would obtain!"

"Well, I was thinking of how you sized up Diane, and Nick, and was figuring you did that with your classmates and teachers." Greg took a casual sip of coffee to keep from snickering at the boy's wide eyed expression. "One of the things they have us do in training is profiling. I was thinking that if I could show the higher ups proof of how good you are at observing people around you, they could see about doing me a favor and getting you access to some things." Greg took another sip if his coffee. "I was thinking of the morgue."

Sherlock gaped at him. "You...you could..."

"I get on well with the forensics team, I could probably get you a few trips in there. Of course I didn't want to mention it to Mycroft, I doubt he'd approve..."

"The morgue!"

Greg snickered. "Look who's parroting words back now! Yes, the morgue. A few trips, I'm thinking. By yourself. Well...with me, and the forensics team, but without the other Fast Track students." Greg took another bite of his breakfast.

Sherlock's hands were shaking. He began pulling at the scone, mashing it into crumbs. "How...but what is the correlation between my school attendance and gaining this access?"

"Well, I had thought if I could show physical proof of how your mind works, how you can observe all sorts of details that most people can't or don't see, I could show that to Ms. Chambers and talk to her about arranging a few private visits to the morgue." 

Sherlock squinted. "Physical proof?"

Greg sighed. "You won't want to do it, so let's not..."

"Tell me!"

"Well." Greg finished his coffee and sighed again. "Like I said, I'd have to show physical proof that you're able to think this way, so I was thinking you could create a journal, or blog about how you can deduce things about people. You wouldn't use real names, of course, but if you used aliases it could prove how you interact with people as well. And what more diverse crowd would you have regular access to besides your teachers and classmates?"

Sherlock ran his fingers through the pile of crumbs on his plate. "You would want a daily chronicle of my deductions on my teachers and classmates?"

"I thought it would be the best way to show what you can do. I can't exactly take you to the station and have you tell people that their girlfriends are cheating on them." Greg finished his breakfast and stood up. "Like I said, I know you don't want to do it, and you've got experiments to do..."

The teenager stood as well. "I shall start on it tonight, with notes from today's observations." He licked at his fingers and hummed. "I must check on my eukaryotes now before dressing for school."

Greg did a mental dance of victory. "Sure. Was the pillow part of your experiment?"

Sherlock frowned. "Pillow?"

"You took a pillow from the Blue Room."

"Oh!" Sherlock looked pleased at Greg's observation. "No. I took it because it is far more comfortable than my current pillow, which I will place in the Blue Room so that Mycroft will not notice the switch."

"...Of course. So where do you keep your... microbes?"

"Outside for now. I am very much looking forward to seeing what sort of lab Mycroft builds. I already have scores of notes I must give him upon his return."

×××××××××××

Luxembourg was one hour ahead of England. Greg decided to take a chance and called Mycroft once he got out of the shower.

"Hey, I'm...er, thanks for letting me stay at your home last night. Listen, I'm getting ready for work, but I wanted to let you know, I sort of promised Sherlock I'd get him access to the morgue if he went to school while you were gone...I know I probably shouldn't have, but he was ready to skip school for three weeks, and..."

The phone make a soft clicking sound and suddenly Mycroft was speaking. "You have done what, exactly?"


	10. Chapter 10

_Fuck._

Greg sat on his bed, his heart sinking. "Er. Your brother, he was planning to skip school for three weeks because you wouldn't be there to make him go. And I figured me telling him that he had to go would do fuck all..."

"I see." Mycroft paused. "And instead, you promised him a trip to the morgue."

"Yes." Greg winced. "Not by himself, but a couple of visits. Maybe he could watch the coroner work, or..." He let his voice trail off and ran his fingers through his wet hair. "Shit. Mycroft, I'm sorry, I just thought you and I could work out some sort of arrangement. You'd mentioned getting him to work with donated tissue samples or something, and...well, I know he's a genius but he can't have truancy on his records." Greg sighed. "Mycroft...I'm sorry."

The silence was killing him. Greg closed his eyes and waited for Mycroft to speak.

"Gregory."

 _Oh fuck. No._ Greg clenched his teeth and waited for his heart to be broken.

"Gregory...my god...you are..."

_Just get it over with. Christ._

"...A genius."

Greg's eyes flew open. 

"Of course, yes," Mycroft breathed, sounding awed. "My god, how could I have let my brother's lackadaisical attitude toward his education slip my attention? Giving him access to the morgue shall be rather easily arranged, and to give him incentive to attend his classes...You were brilliant, Gregory. Truly brilliant."

"Oh god." Greg fell back on to the bed, grinning. "Oh fuck. I thought you were furious. Christ, I couldn't have handled that."

Mycroft was quiet for a moment. "I..."

Greg frowned. "You all right?"

"Yes. I am...well. I have, of late, been marveling at my recent turn of luck. It is quite overwhelming."

"I've been thinking the same thing." Greg stretched. "Where are you right now?"

"Colmar Berg. I am currently in my suite, as I have a bit of reprieve in between meetings."

Greg bit his lip. "I'm at home...just got out of the shower."

Mycroft was quiet for a moment. "How very interesting. I myself have just done the same."

"Yeah?" Greg felt his body start to react to the idea of Mycroft naked, water running all over him. "Would have made my shower much more fun, if you were there."

"I agree" Mycroft purred. "Are you...in your bedroom?"

 _Oh fuck._ "Yeah," Greg growled, reaching down to squeeze himself when Mycroft took in a sharp breath. He seemed to like it when Greg let his voice get a bit rough. "You got anything on?"

Mycroft took in a shaking breath. "I...am currently enclothed in a bathrobe."

"I've got a towel on." Greg closed his eyes and began to gently stroke himself. "Want you here. With me."

"Oh...my god. Gregory..." Suddenly Mycroft cursed under his breath. "Ah. There is someone at my door. One moment, please."

Greg listened to Mycroft setting the phone down and sighed, taking his hand off himself. The moment he got Mycroft alone, he was locking every door and turning off both their phones.

There was noise in the background - a door opening, a man speaking, and Mycroft answering in a language that sounded like a cross between French and German. The man laughed, sounding charmed, and Greg narrowed his eyes. Whoever he was said something in the same language, in a flirtatious tone as Mycroft's voice grew louder.

"...My apologies." Mycroft cleared his throat. "I am being summoned to a meeting."

"It's all right." Greg tried to sound casual. "So, sounds like you've got company?"

"Oh. That is Leo Diederich. He is the Luxembourg liaison to the Duke and the Prime Minister. I will be working with him directly in these upcoming weeks to solidify plans for legislation."

Before Greg could try to reply or change the subject, the other man - Leo - asked Mycroft something in that language (Luxembourgish, Greg supposed). Mycroft hesitated, then responded, and Greg heard his name being mentioned. Leo was quiet for a moment, but then spoke softly, and Mycroft replied. Greg heard the word "police" and something else in Luxembourgish that made Leo laugh and say something that made Mycroft chuckle in return.

"Apologies, I must be leaving." Mycroft sighed. "I do hope to speak to you later today, Gregory, but it might not be until later this week. Again, you have my utmost gratitude for ensuring that my brother will attend school."

"Yeah, it's fine." Greg felt slightly numb but smiled, hoping he sounded calm and pleasant. "I hope I get to talk to you soon."

"As do I. Good day, Gregory."

×××××××××××

The constable training began with Greg inspecting uniforms and giving tips about improving their appearances. There were six constables under his training for now: Alex Redmont, the youngest and most eager; Danny Angle, a sweet and affable man; Carrie Dixon, who had a quiet intensity about her; Joey Johnston (or "JJ", as they all called him), very quick witted and funny; Laura Campbell, friendly and somewhat flirty; and Tom Elson, who Greg immediately figured would be the first to be promoted, as he already had a manner of authority.

Greg also went over how he handled certain situations in the past and let them ask questions about his experience. When they left to start their shifts with Sgt Henry Dawson, Greg popped out for a quick smoke, ruminating about the call he'd had with Mycroft that morning.

Greg knew it wasn't fair to Mycroft to feel so jealous. They hadn't even really talked about what they were to each other, or together. Obviously there was an attraction, but it was like Greg told Sherlock - Mycroft was incredible, brilliant, and clearly fucking important to the country, maybe even the world. Whereas Greg was...Greg. A copper, nothing more.

Maybe this Leo twat was more suitable for such an incredible man like Mycroft Holmes. Leo Diederich, the fucking liaison to the Duke and the Prime Minister. Toff bastard.

"Everything okay, Lestrade?" Sgt. Meghan Hinds joined him, giving him a concerned look. "You seem quiet today. Anyone else giving you shit?"

Greg managed a smile. "I'm fine, sorry."

Meghan snorted. "I'm a detective, mate. Try again."

Greg laughed. "Fuck. Yeah, okay. Just...thinking, you know?"

"Ugh, don't tell me you're back together with that Diane slag. I never liked her. Always looking at other blokes...plus she never laughed at my jokes, and I'm bloody hilarious." Meghan smirked. 

"No, she's history. Been sort of, well, interested in someone else."

"Ohhh." Meghan's eyes lit up. "That lush tall bloke! Posh, with those eyes and that _fantastic_ arse!"

Greg snorted. "His name's Mycroft."

"No, his name's "delicious". Ohhh, I'd have a bit of fun with that one. And he's yours, yeah? Good on you!"

"That's the thing." Greg finished his cigarette and stomped it out. "He's away for three weeks, and we've not made things official. I'm thinking...maybe it's not meant to happen."

Meghan sighed. "Lestrade, you depress me. Stop being so self-pitying, you gloomy bastard."

Before Greg could reply, Penny stepped out to join them. "Oh, there you are, Lestrade. You've been summoned by that Fast Track woman. Something about last minute arrangements."

"Thanks. I'll see you two later." Greg gave them a smile and turned to go inside.

"No more sad sack shit either, Sergeant! If I had a go at that tall stretch of sex, you couldn't get a grin off my face." Meghan and Penny both chuckled at Greg's shocked expression.

Allison greeted Greg with a warm smile. "Excellent news, Sergeant! Sherlock Holmes will start on the program this Friday. We had a bit of a snag with some other paperwork from the other students, but everything is set now."

"That's great. He's already excited to start." Greg suddenly thought of something. "Will he be the youngest one in the group?"

"Yes, but not by much." Allison checked her notes. "We also have a young girl, very promising in her science classes, she's a year older. Plus a boy, two years older, who was previously involved in a youth medical program."

Greg thought of how Sherlock smiled at the idea of making friends and grinned. "That is fantastic. I'll talk to him tonight and let him know."

×××××××××××

The rest of the day was comprised mostly of paperwork and planning future constable training with Hudson. At seven o'clock she instructed Greg to go home and get some rest. He was able to grab some Indian takeout and saw that he had some missed texts from Sherlock. As soon as Greg got settled on his couch with his dinner he read through them.

**\- I am crafting a website on the science of deduction. You will be notified when it is up. - SH**

**\- Cook wants to know if you have any food allergies/preferences. -SH**

**\- All traces of swine have been obliterated from my room and my clothes. Excepting, of course, any traces of my brother. -SH  
**

Greg snickered and texted back the news on the other Fast Track students, adding that Mycroft was in no way fat. He finished his food and when he came back to the couch, he saw a couple of other texts from the boy.

**\- Once again I call your observational methods into question. -SH**

**\- Also I reiterate that I am not interested in whatever sort of ruffians the program had attracted. I assume you have information on the other attendees that you will give to me immediately, such as their assuredly dismal IQ levels. -SH**

Sherlock denying any interest in the other kids and then asking about them was amusing, but also sad. Maybe Greg could ask to observe a few sessions to make sure the boy was getting along with the other students. 

Greg's phone rang and he answered it with a grin. "Okay, I don't know anyone's IQ levels, all right? I'm sure they're not as impressive as yours."

The low laugh that responded wasn't Sherlock's. Greg sat up, his grip on his phone tightening. 

"Oh, no. You must think this is your posh fucktoy" the voice purred. Whoever was calling was using a voice distorter. Greg grabbed a nearby pen and paper and began taking notes.

"We know he's out of town. Leaves you vulnerable, doesn't it? Grasshopper Greg, all by himself." The voice laughed again. Greg managed to keep his hand steady and wrote _Male? Female? Keeping eye on Mycroft. Doesn't seem to know about the bodyguards._

"How did you get my number?" Greg asked, keeping his voice steady.

"It isn't hard finding out information on other coppers. Like their mobile numbers, what kind of car they drive...where they live."

Greg froze.

"And without your boyfriend there, you can't exactly say how safe you feel right now, isn't that right? Something to think about, Lestrade. You don't even know how many of us there are. You don't know anything, you fucking freak cunt. Do you really think you have friends on the force? Maybe some of us have been keeping an eye on you by pretending to be your friend. Think about that the next time you show your pretty cocksucking face around the station tomorrow. That is, if you fucking have the balls to show up."

The caller hung up. Greg clenched his teeth and added to his notes. _Using info at the station on me. Anyone part of Quarry's group? See who reacts when I come in tomorrow._

His phone rang again. This time, Greg checked to see who was calling.

"You did not answer my last text." Sherlock's droll tone was an incredible relief. "Exactly how stupid are these other students?"

"Sherlock. I just got a call and I need to call Mycroft immediately."

"What sort of call?"

Greg grimaced and stood up, grabbing his notes. "A threatening one."

"I see. Mycroft mentioned you having issues with other officers." Sherlock was speaking rapidly, a breathing slightly heavier. It sounded like he was pacing. 

"Yeah, it was anonymous but it was one them. I should let Mycroft know, he's got -"

"Bodyguards, yes. He also informed me that if anything were to happen to you that I was to insist on you staying here rather than scurry to a hotel."

Greg glanced around his flat. Instinctively he wanted to assure the boy that he'd be fine, but he didn't exactly feel safe. There was one of him and who knows how many of them. Plus the police could prevent the bodyguards from interfering if they wanted to get into Greg's flat. They could rope off the building, say they had a warrant, get in and make it look like a break-in...

Fuck it. He'd be safest at the Holmes mansion. "Okay, yeah. Gonna pack a bag and..."

"A car will pick you up," Sherlock interrupted. "Do you keep your car locked?" 

"Yeah, it's in a garage under the building -"

"Mycroft will have it checked when he returns. Until then, you can have one of our cars."

Greg hurried into his room and set the phone on his dresser, putting it on speaker. "I am not taking one of your family cars, Sherlock."

Sherlock snorted as Greg pulled out a luggage bag and began packing. "I did not say you could keep it, although it wouldn't be a problem. We have a number of them."

"Just... we'll talk about it later, yeah? I have to call Mycroft." 

"Yes, and I will notify him when you've arrived." A soft click let him know Sherlock had hung up. 

Greg finished packing, making sure he had enough clothes for about a week or so, as well as his toothbrush and a few other toiletries. He didn't have anything in his fridge that would spoil...he hadn't cooked since he'd broken up with Diane. No pets, all bills paid...he would be okay.

Greg checked his caller ID, cursing when he saw the threatening call only listed "Private". He scrolled to Mycroft's number and called it, walking over to the window as it rang. No one was loitering outside. Still, Greg felt like he was being watched.

The phone kept ringing. Greg figured Mycroft would be busy, but he could leave a message. 

The call picked up, and Greg walked away from the window. "Hey... Mycroft?"

"Ween bass du?"

Greg's eyes narrowed at the voice. He'd recognized it from that morning. "Mr. Diederich. I need to speak to Mycroft."

"Ah. You are the policeman." Leo chuckled. "Mycroft is occupied at the moment."

 _Why did you answer his fucking phone?_ "Can you get him for me, please? It's important."

"Well." Leo chuckled again. "He is in the shower right now."

Greg frowned. "He took a shower this morning."

"Yes, that's right. You spoke to him this morning. Just one moment." 

Greg listened while Leo gently opened a door, and the sound of a shower running grew louder. Leo asked something in a playful tone and Mycroft responded.

"He is almost done," Leo murmured after he closed the door. "The two of us were in the need of another shower tonight. Things became rather intimate and we got a bit...messy. You understand."

Greg sat on his bed, feeling dizzy. "I...yeah. I understand."

"I can go back in there and let him know that you'd like to speak with him..."

"No need. Thanks." Greg hung up and held his head. He'd been right. It was just a bit of flirting with him and Mycroft. They were friends... acquaintances. Leo was a twat, but he was an important twat, and clearly that was irresistible to Mycroft. It had been ridiculous of Greg to think that he could actually have some sort of future with someone like Mycroft Holmes. 

His phone buzzed with a text. Luckily, it was Sherlock again. **The car is outside. I'm standing right next to it. Come down at once. -SH**

Greg rubbed at his eyes, picked up his bag, and headed outside.


	11. Chapter 11

"Describe the caller to me," Sherlock instructed as Greg got into the car. "Do not omit any details."

Greg was in no mood to argue, so he gave him all the information he had. The teenager also looked over Greg's notes and declared them as "decent", which seemed like a tremendous compliment coming from him. 

All the wait staff had been dismissed for the day, so as soon as they got to the house, Greg headed to the Rose Bedchamber. He was both exhausted and wired, and wanted nothing more than to collapse into the large, soft bed.

Sherlock stood in the doorway, texting. "I am notifying my brother that you are here. He might not be available, but..." The boy sniffed as his phone played a soft tune. "He is calling now."

Greg sat on the bed and began going through his bag. He needed a distraction. He'd packed plenty of socks, but probably needed new ones. A few shirts, he had remembered his razor, that was good...

"They did not make a specific threat" Sherlock was saying. "He is here now, and..." The boy sighed and held out his phone. "My brother wishes to speak with you."

Greg zipped his bag closed. "No."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"I don't want to talk to him. I need to..." Greg took a deep breath. "I need to call Inspector Hudson." He grabbed his phone and walked past Sherlock into the Blue Room, gently closing the door behind him.

Greg scrolled through his phone for Karen's number, listening as Sherlock continued to speak to Mycroft.

"He doesn't want to talk to you. I am not lying! No, I am neither joking nor lying. Well, of course he is upset. Do not state obvious facts...he explicitly said that he did not want to talk to you!" Sherlock stomped down the hallway, his booming voice carrying. "Obviously you have irritated him in some way! I do not _know_ , Mycroft! Stop being so insufferably obtuse!" 

"Lestrade." Karen's calm voice was a blessing. "Is everything all right?"

"I'm sorry for bothering you so late." Greg took out his notes. "I got a call...it was um, from them. Look, I have an idea..."

×××××××××××

When Greg ended his call, he headed to Sherlock's room. He didn't want the boy to feel responsible for Greg's safety, or whatever was going on with him and Mycroft.

From the sound of it, Sherlock was still talking to his brother. "... Currently speaking to Inspector Hudson. Yes...yes, I said I would! Enough!" Sherlock hesitated, then sighed. "I will," he said in a softer tone. "I swear it, yes." The call ended, and the teenager sat on his bed, his head slightly bowed. 

Greg felt a pang of guilt and gently knocked on the open door. Sherlock sat up immediately and turned his intense gaze onto him. 

"Lestrade. You have spoken with your inspector?"

"Yeah." Greg ran his hand through his hair. "Look, Sherlock... I don't think I should be speaking to your brother anytime soon. He needs to concentrate on other things and I've got work." 

Sherlock continued to stare at him. It was a bit unnerving.

"Oh, uh, also, there will be a couple of students around your age in the Fast Track program. A girl and a boy. No information on their I.Q.s, though." Greg tried to smile but failed miserably. 

"You did not speak to my brother before leaving your flat."

Greg clenched his teeth. "No, I didn't. Look, I'm tired, can we just...?"

"He is extremely distraught." Sherlock stood up and began pacing. "You had expressed an urgent need to speak with him before leaving, but did not. When we arrived here, you made it clear that you did not want to speak with him. And just a moment ago, you stated that you didn't foresee any chance that you will speak to him soon."

"Okay." Greg sighed. It was obvious that Sherlock wasn't going to let this go. "I tried to call him before I left, but he was...busy."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "His attention to his dealings with the Duke upset you, then."

"No! Christ, I'm not that kind of..." Greg sighed and closed his eyes. "Look, just...if he wants to know why I don't want to talk to him, just...tell him to be with Leo. It's...it's okay."

"Be with Leo in what capacity? And who is Leo?"

Greg fixed the boy with his own stare. "This conversation is over, Sherlock. I am going to bed now. Tomorrow we'll talk about the program." He turned and left before Sherlock could respond.

Thankfully, the boy did not follow Greg as he walked into the Rose Bedchamber and closed the door behind him. Greg methodically went through the motions of getting ready for bed, his mind racing. 

Realistically speaking, Greg had known that he wasn't a good fit with Diane. She was far too demanding, and always seemed irritated with him and his dedication to being a detective. Still, he had liked her, and when she confessed to having an affair, it crushed him.

He couldn't go through that again. Not with someone he really wanted.

The bed was as soft as he'd remembered, but Greg couldn't sleep. The threats, Leo's smug voice, Mycroft's casual tone when Leo spoke to him while he was in the shower...

Diane hadn't been the first. Most of his exes had ended up finding comfort in the arms of another person. Greg was always working, so that was the excuse he'd gotten used to hearing. 

This time, though, was clearly a case of Mycroft realizing what Greg had been afraid of all along; that the brilliant, gorgeous man wanted someone who had more to offer him. Leo could give connections, experience, status. All Greg could offer was himself. Romance, all in its ridiculous glory. Inside jokes, anniversaries, little notes hidden in pockets, texts sent throughout the day. Familiar, tender lovemaking and breakfast in bed. It didn't hold a candle to a passionate affair with a man who also helped to run a country. A life of power and excitement, full of scenarios Greg couldn't even fathom.

It wasn't much of a contest.

Greg closed his eyes and managed to drift to sleep.

×××××××××××

When Greg woke at 5:00 that morning, Sherlock was gone. He didn't leave a note, but a piece of paper was pinned to his desk with a switchblade. For a second Greg was tempted to investigate, but then figured that Sherlock would be the type that would leave traps in his room for unsuspecting tresspassers, so he went downstairs to see if he could make some coffee.

A woman was in the kitchen, humming to herself as she looked into the pantry. She reached up to grab a box from a top shelf, revealing a snake tattoo on her hip. 

Greg looked away and cleared his throat. 

"Oh!" The woman turned and laughed. "I didn't know someone was here."

"Sorry about that." He smiled and walked toward her, extending his hand. "I'm Greg Lestrade."

"The detective! Both the boys have been mentioning you." She shook his hand and beamed at him. "Pleasure to meet you! I was just going to make some coffee, and I've made more scones."

"Oh! You're the cook who made those delicious things." Greg patted his stomach. "I stole a couple the other morning. Was going to save them for the next couple of breakfasts but I ended up eating them both before the day ended."

"Aren't you sweet? Yes, I am the cook. My name's Martha, actually, and Mycroft calls me Miss Sisson, and Sherlock just calls me "cook". Terrible with names, that one."

"I've noticed." Greg looked around the kitchen. "Can I help with anything?"

"No, have a seat. I've got all this sorted." Martha looked him over and giggled. "My, you are handsome. I can see why our Mycroft is so taken with you."

Greg felt the smile slip from his face at the mention of Mycroft. "Er. Well. I apologize if I disturbed you."

She waved her hand. "No bother at all. Have a seat, I'll get the coffee started." 

They chatted as the coffee brewed, Martha taking a seat across from him after setting down a plate of scones. Greg happily began eating while he learned more about Martha, and that she'd been with the family since the Holmes parents died, and her older sister was their cook. 

"Emily was going to retire anyway. She'd recently gotten married and was wanting to start her own family. But after William and Victoria's accident, she wasn't sure if she should stay on. The poor dear was so distraught. They were very good to her, and our family. I'd been out of culinary school for a while and had already done catering, being a private chef, and I wanted something permanent. Em told me stories about the Holmes boys, and I was curious." Martha smiled sadly. "They were heartbroken after the accident, of course. Tried to hide it, Mycroft especially. Being so brave for his little brother. And poor little Sherlock, he seemed so lost. I couldn't have it. I came in one day with Em, pushed her to the side after she showed me around the kitchen, and got to work. I made a bit of everything - chips, cookies, roast chicken, fruit tarts, soup. Comfort foods. Em became my assistant that day. Then I turned to see both boys, Sherlock muching away at chips and Mycroft enjoying a fruit tart. He told me I was hired." Martha beamed at the memory. "I've been here ever since."

Greg smiled. Hearing about Mycroft made his heart ache a bit, but he still loved hearing about him. "Do you live on the property?"

"Mycroft talked me into it. My flat was not in the best neighborhood, and he thought it would benefit us all. I enjoy it here...such a beautiful home! And the boys keep things interesting."

"Undoubtedly." Greg sipped his coffee and smiled. "Like blowing up a pig's head."

Martha tittered. "Oh, that Sherlock! He's a brilliant boy, so energetic. He saw me with the head, and I was thinking of using it to make stock, but then he started talking about skin and experimentation..." She shook her head. "I told him to use the head for his experiments and to leave his own skin alone." Martha took another sip of coffee. "Thankfully, Mycroft was pleased with my decision."

Greg looked down and nodded.

Martha reached out and patted his arm. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Some tough times at work." Greg smiled. "Nothing too bad. Plus, ah, my apartment's floors are being redone, so I'll be staying here for a bit. I promise not to bother you."

Martha narrowed her eyes. "You know, Detective, I used to date a drug kingpin. One thing I picked up is how to spot a liar."

"...A drug kingpin?" Greg stared at her. "Are you being serious?"

"I am. I was a stupid teenager, and now I'm happily single. Got away from that idiot with much help from Mr. William Holmes. My ex is currently serving a few life sentences in a maximum security prison. And I never had to give up my identity or my dreams of becoming a chef." Martha finished her coffee and sighed with satisfaction. "But yes, you are lying. I'm sure you're better at it when questioning suspects, but there's a personal matter that has you upset."

"It's nothing," Greg mumbled.

"Bollocks" Martha said simply, and got up to bring over the coffee pot. She refilled their cups and smirked. "I admit that we've just met, but I have known Mycroft Holmes for a few years now, and I've never seen him so flustered about anyone. He was so anxious about leaving without saying goodbye to you...I kept reassuring him I'd make all sorts of breakfast foods for you, but Mycroft still fussed."

Greg shrugged. It wasn't his place to say what had happened between him and Mycroft. "I do appreciate it."

Martha frowned. "Is it that you're not, ah, attracted to other men?"

"I am. And yeah, I thought maybe Mycroft and I..." Greg shrugged again. "Doesn't matter. He's with someone else now."

"That's impossible!" Martha scoffed.

Greg smiled sadly. "All the evidence is there."

"Are you certain?" She raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you had cases where you had a feeling that something wasn't right, and after some digging, you found another solution?"

"Well...yeah, but this is-"

"Hush." Martha stood and picked up her mug. "I will warm up some more scones while you think things over."

×××××××××××

After breakfast, a driver took Greg to the station. He kept an eye on the other officers to gauge their reactions as he walked in, but couldn't spot anything unusual.

"Lestrade!" Karen stood in her doorway, arms folded as she glared at him. "My office. Now."

He nodded, hurrying to her office, taking a seat as she slammed the door closed. 

"I am utterly appalled that this has happened," Karen muttered, walking back to her desk and staring him down. "Tell me you are safe. I need to hear it again."

"I'm safe," Greg reassured her, remembering to look chagrined.

"Thank God," she whispered. "Well, we are being watched, so let's keep up the theatrics, shall we?" Karen pulled out a file and slammed it down. "Good idea to make this look like a dressing down, Lestrade."

"If they think I'm isolated, they'll be tempted to make another move." Greg looked over the file filled with empty papers and winced. "If pressed, I'll tell people this was about a case with Nick."

Karen nodded, then pointed at the file. "So you don't know who to trust?" she asked softly, her caring tone contrasting with her stern expression.

"I know I can trust you." Greg rubbed his forehead and gave her a quick wink. "Thank you for pretending to be mad at me."

"Anything to get this sorted." Karen snatched up the file and waved him away. "You may continue with your plan, Lestrade, but for God's sake, be careful."


	12. Chapter 12

"Probation?" Sgt. Henry Dawson frowned as he handed Greg a mug of coffee. "Why on Earth would Hudson put you on probation?"

Greg shrugged and tried to look despondent. "She looked through some files from Spalling's cases and thought I didn't handle them well."

Henry snorted. "That's a load of shite. You're a great copper."

Greg smiled sadly. Lying to his friends felt awful, but after that phone call he had to be careful. Anyone who wanted to hurt him could come after his friends as well. The perpetrators wanted Greg to be paranoid and to doubt that he even had friends, so he would act the part. 

The plan, as he described it to Karen last night, was to make him seem isolated. It would go around that he was on probation, and that Karen would monitor his constable training, when in fact she'd be watching how they interacted with him and each other. Portraying herself as someone who wasn't a fan of Greg's would give Karen the opportunity to possibly have someone sympathetic with Spalling and Quarry approach her. She'd agreed, and informed Greg that she'd be looking into the other constables and sergeants as well. 

The entire day was like that, with David, Penny, and Meghan offering their support and sympathy. A few constables came by as well. Laura and JJ had even seemed a bit nervous, and Greg couldn't tell if it was because they felt uncomfortable with a superior being so obviously chastised, or because Karen was watching them all from her office like a hawk.

It was fairly depressing, being buried in paperwork all day like he'd been with Spalling, but Greg couldn't just keep going on with his normal routine and pretend that he wasn't being hunted.

The hours stretched on into evening. Someone had ordered pizza and Greg grabbed a couple of slices before others could descend on it. As he ate, he wondered how to approach Sherlock once he got back to the mansion. Talking about his brother wasn't an option, but Greg didn't want things to get strained between himself and the young boy. Besides, he was a guest in Sherlock's home. 

As soon as Greg arrived at the estate, he realized it wouldn't be so easy. There was a feel to the air, something tense and strained. A beautiful, haunting melody echoed throughout the mansion. Greg didn't recognize it, but it sounded like heartache and remorse.

Cursing himself for clearly making the boy stressed, Greg made his way to the teenager's room and gently knocked on his door.

The playing ceased for a moment, then continued.

"Sherlock?" Greg knocked again. "Hey...I'm sorry about everything with me and your brother...it's not fair to you. We can talk if you'd like..."

No response, and no further break in the music. Greg waited for what felt like several minutes, then decided to give the boy space. Sherlock clearly was not going to speak to him tonight.

"All right. We'll talk tomorrow?" Greg waited, but nothing changed. As he walked away, he thought he heard another bit of music, something familiar. The ringtone from Sherlock's phone, when Mycroft had called the night before. Greg thought he heard the playing cease for a second, then start again. 

It was faint, but Greg could still hear Sherlock's playing as he settled himself in bed. He let the desolate music lull him to sleep.

×××××××××××

Sherlock's door was still closed in the morning. Greg went downstairs to have some coffee, making a mental note to ask Sherlock if it would be okay to jog around the property in the mornings for some exercise. They probably had their own gym, but Greg liked getting fresh air and was curious. The first night he'd arrived, he'd imagined walking through the woods beyond the mansion with Mycroft, hand in hand...

Greg grunted at the thought of it, and shook his head. It was a stupidly romantic idea that clearly wouldn't be happening now. 

Martha, the saint, had left out parkin. It went wonderfully with the coffee she'd made, and just as Greg was toying with the idea of taking some to work, he saw that she'd put some in a takeaway box for him. She'd included a note to "rethink things" with a winky face, which made him grin.

Maybe she was right. All Greg had was Leo's word, and he was obviously a twat. Greg could understand the attraction to Mycroft, and maybe Leo saw Greg as a threat and had wanted to chase him off. 

Greg went upstairs and got dressed, resolving to talk to Mycroft himself and see what had happened. 

First though, he had to talk to Sherlock. 

Greg was just about to knock on his door when he heard the boy speaking. He turned, wanting to give him privacy, when he heard his name.

"...Lestrade is still here, yes. Yes, the Rose Bedchamber. No, I have not. Well, then _you_ can call him!" Sherlock huffed. "Perhaps you should keep at it...you sound terrible, Mycroft. No, I am not! I am merely..." The teenager huffed again. "You sound as if you have not slept. When was the last time you..." The boys voice trailed off. When he spoke again, he was quieter, sounding a bit shocked. "I...I _do_ care, Mycroft..."

A chill ran through Greg's body. Sherlock kept talking in a soft voice, but Greg turned and quickly headed downstairs to go to work.

×××××××××××

He spent the first five minutes of lunch staring at his phone.

Greg kept scrolling through his contacts, staring at Mycroft's information. After his talk with Leo, Greg had muted all notifications from Mycroft. He hadn't wanted to be informed of any calls or texts. Hearing Sherlock's conversation with his brother that morning made him regret this. Mycroft was hurting, and so was Sherlock. If this was all a misunderstanding, then Greg would be to blame. 

He was about to unlock the notifications when David approached him. "Hey, Lestrade. I was going to grab a ham and cheese toastie for lunch. Want to join me?"

Greg put his phone down and tried to smile. "I'm not very hungry, mate."

David sighed and sat down next to him. "Greg, I know Karen's got you doing shit work, but she'll come around. In the meantime, you've got to keep on. _And_ you have to eat lunch, preferably something unhealthy with a ridiculous amount of cheese."

Greg chuckled. "All right, you win."

David patted his shoulder. "Ham and cheese toastie will make it all better."

Their lunch was like a balm on a wound. The isolation at work and Mycroft's absence (along with Sherlock's obvious shunning) was making Greg miserable. He hated feeling lonely, and he'd never felt so alone, and vulnerable. 

When they returned, they noticed officers standing outside the station and gagging.

"What happened?" David demanded, looking around. 

"Your desk," Meghan wheezed. "And mine."

"And mine," Penny coughed.

"Mine too," Henry groaned.

Greg felt faint. "What did they do?"

"Bug spray." Henry shuddered. "A fucking mess of it. Poured in the drawers, on our computers. And a note left on David's desk."

"A note?"

Henry handed a piece of paper sealed in two plastic bags. Greg stared down at it, fear quickly turning to anger.

_ANY FRIEND OF GRASSHOPPER GREG IS A DISLOYAL CUNT_

Greg handed the note back to Henry. "Wait here." He stomped over to Karen, feeling every molecule in his body ready to explode with rage.

"Lestrade." She grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. "Before you ask, no one claims to have noticed anything. Someone tripped the fire alarm, and they must have done it in the panic."

"My friends need protection" Greg growled. "I cannot have -"

"Quarry is suspended. He admitted to helping plan this. Right now he's not saying who helped him. A full investigation has officially been launched. I've already talked to Devers, and he along with Detective Chief Inspector Sean Rafferty and Detective Superintendent Jeff Leary will be meeting with Daniel Reynolds. Devers said you might know Reynolds from the Office for Police Conduct?"

"Mycroft contacted him about Spalling." Greg rubbed his eyes. "In the meantime?"

"In the meantime, the desks and the computers will be replaced, the contents of the desks will be cleaned, and the people who did this are going to be fucking sorry." Karen sighed shakily. "I want to scream right now."

"You and me both."

×××××××××××

Statements were given, promises made. His friends assured him they'd be safe, but Greg was still terrified.

The smell had faded after the offending desks were taken out and windows were left open. A bit of it still hung in the air, stifling and toxic.

"Go home, Lestrade." Karen looked exhausted. "Get some rest."

He didn't argue.

×××××××××××

The driver, Alex, greeted him with an encouraging smile. Greg wondered if he already knew what had happened.

"Let's get you to the estate, sir."

"Greg."

"Ah, yes, Greg." Alex opened the door for him. Greg was strangly getting used to all this poshness. "I've included a can of lemonade in the back for a bit of refreshment."

"Oh, you're a saint, Alex."

"Not sure about _that_ , sir. Er, Greg."

On the way to the Holmes mansion, Greg sipped at his lemonade, went to his mobile settings, and unmuted all of Mycroft's notifications.

There were seven missed calls. Most were from Monday, but one was from yesterday, and there was a wall of texts that grew increasingly heartbreaking as they went on.

**_\- Gregory, are you all right? -MH_ **

**_\- Sherlock told me of your recent call. Please call me, or text back. -MH_ **

**_\- Gregory, please contact me. -MH_ **

**_\- Is there a reason you will not speak to me? Please do call. -MH_ **

**_\- Gregory, I need assurance from you that you are all right. -MH_ **

**_\- I am so glad you are in my home. You are always welcome. -MH_ **

**_\- Gregory, if you are angry with me, please tell me why._ **

**_\- Gregory I cannot sleep. I've been assured that you are safe but I need to hear your voice please. Please I care so much for you_ **

Greg winced. He checked the time of the text, and saw that from that morning, either before or after Sherlock had spoken.

The last text broke his heart.

**_\- Please._ **

Greg closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. This man was beautiful, gentle, generous. He would not be callous with Greg's feelings, not even for a one night stand with another powerful man miles away.

Leo was a certified twat.

They pulled up to the house, where Alex collected Greg's empty can.

"Sherlock is home already. He has been a bit cantankerous today."

Greg smiled at the warning. "I'm hoping to turn that around."

Alex returned his smile. "I am confident you will be able to do that." 

Sherlock was in his room, speaking to someone. Greg carefully approached his doorway, unsure if he should interrupt.

"... utterly disheveled. Are there no combs in Luxembourg?" 

Greg froze. He peeked around the corner, his jaw dropping when he saw Mycroft on Sherlock's mounted television. They were speaking on videophone, with Sherlock sitting at his desk and fiddling with a microscope.

"The Duke's grandson was present for the latest meeting." Mycroft looked exhausted, his hair mussed and skin pale. He looked as if he hadn't been sleeping for some time. "The boy once again decided to shower me with fistfuls of custard, as he did during my first meeting with the Duke and the cabinet on Monday. I have spent half my time here in the shower."

Greg clenched his jaw. _Leo, you lying fuck._

"Delightful." Sherlock exchanged a slide and made a few notes in a journal. "And that Leo person?" he asked carefully, clearly trying to sound nonchalant.

"What of him?" Mycroft sounded distracted. Greg noticed he was looking at his phone and frowning. "He is still bothersome. Being a bit over-friendly, to be honest. I have half a mind to change my phone number once I leave this place. He will not cease texting me, and it is utterly irritating. The man actually opened the door as I showered Monday and asked if I needed anything. I told him I was all right and to please close the door."

Sherlock's head snapped up and he stared at his brother. "Are you being serious?"

Mycroft scoffed. "Why would I jest at such a thing? He is becoming a menace. I must work with him to ensure this legislation is completed, but it is cumbersome." There was a knock at the door, and Mycroft sighed. "If that is him, I hope that I can refrain from an outburst."

Greg watched in numb shock as Mycroft got up to answer the door. He spoke, sounding pleased, and a woman entered with a cart. She poured tea, bowed slightly, then left.

"No cake?" Sherlock murmured after the door closed.

Mycroft sipped at his tea and sighed deeply. "No, brother mine." He set his cup down and ran his fingers through his hair. "I confess I have not had much of an appetite as of late."

Greg had heard enough. Time to come clean. He cleared his throat and stepped forward. "...Hey."

Mycroft's head snapped up and Sherlock whirled around. Both brothers stared at him in what seemed like shock.

"I, um." Greg cleared his throat again. "I owe you both an apology. I let myself believe in something that I shouldn't have, and...I'm sorry."

The staring continued.

"Er...yes. I, um, let my insecurities get to me, and it affected you as well, Sherlock, and that wasn't..."

"Did you speak to this Leo person?" Sherlock interrupted. "Is that why you said that Mycroft should be with him?"

Greg cringed. "Ah. Yes. He lead me to believe that...that he and Mycroft were...together."

"Ugh." Sherlock tossed aside his journal in disgust. "Sentiment and diffidence. Boring."

"Sherlock," Mycroft warned, then looked at Greg. "Tell me what happened."

"I called you on Monday. Leo answered your phone." 

Mycroft's jaw dropped, but then he recovered. "Continue."

Sherlock turned back to his brother. "I thought you despised hearing of conversations in the past tense."

"Needs must," Mycroft muttered, still staring at Greg. "Go on."

"Leo said you were in the shower, and that you'd both needed a shower because you got, er, messy being intimate."

Sherlock's face twisted in disgust. "Ugh!"

"...Yeah." Greg rubbed his neck, feeling stupid. "I just panicked, I guess. Let myself believe the worst." He looked up at Mycroft. "That I couldn't have what I wanted."

Mycroft took a deep breath. "I can assure you...I very much want the same thing."

"Can we..." Greg shifted his weight. "Can we speak privately?"

Mycroft's eyes became half-lidded. "My bedroom." 

Sherlock waved his hand. "Mycroft has the ability to take calls on his television as well. Please do go and continue your conversation. I do not wish to hear your amorous exchanges."

Greg chuckled and Mycroft lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah...that sounds good."

"Down the hall, on the right. Blue door. It's unlocked." Sherlock was back to paying most of his attention to his microscope. He replaced a slide and grunted. "Close the door after you. If I hear anything I will vomit."


	13. Chapter 13

Greg's heart pounded as he approached Mycroft's room. He'd daydreamed of this, but in far different circumstances - hand in hand, or pulling at each other's clothes.

The door was a light blue, almost gray - not unlike the color of those beautiful eyes. Greg had felt his world change when he first looked into them. It was so much, so soon, but he was helpless against it, and so wanted to surrender to this... whatever it was.

They wanted each other. It was like Sherlock said - incredibly obvious.

As soon as Greg entered the room, he closed the door behind him. He immediately felt pulled into the room, as if it was waiting to enfold him. It smelled a bit like Mycroft - that delicious, woodsy and spicy scent. It was far more organized and meticulous than Sherlock's room, and larger - about the size of Greg's entire flat. It was also darker, an elegant design with a dramatic touch. It suited Mycroft.

The bed was massive, piled with pillows. Greg ached to crawl under the covers, writhing until he was surrounded by Mycroft's scent. 

A soft click made Greg turn, and his heart twinged as the massive television set mounted on the wall suddenly displayed the man whose bedroom he was in. Mycroft looked exhausted, but there was a hopeful look in his eyes that hadn't been there before Greg interrupted the call with Sherlock. 

"Gregory," he breathed. "I...I am so glad to see you."

The grin that blossomed on Greg's face was unavoidable. "It's good to see you too."

Mycroft smiled, looking slightly more relaxed. "I have missed you."

"I've missed you." Greg took a deep breath. "I'm sorry again about everything."

Mycroft waved his hand. "No need to apologise. The fault lies with Leo. I had programmed my phone to bypass security measures when you would call so there would be no delay in answering. Unfortunately, I did not count on him answering your call."

Greg swallowed. "Or interrupting you in the shower."

"Most certainly not." Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "Clearly the man is in need of a lesson in personal boundaries."

Before Greg could reply, but a knock at the door made Mycroft turn. A familiar voice called out, and both men tensed.

"Speak of the devil," Greg muttered.

Mycroft stood and straightened his tie. "I believe it is time to settle this matter. I assume you do not have a problem with remaining on the line?"

Greg bit his lower lip, but couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Not at all."

The tablet that Mycroft was using as a teleconference was set on the table by Mycroft's tea, obscured but still giving Greg a view of the front door. Mycroft sat on the chair next to the table, facing the door. Greg felt like he was standing behind him in the room.

"You may enter, Mr. Diederich," Mycroft uttered in a low tone.

Leo opened the door, looking Mycroft over in a manner that made his intentions clear. He smiled and closed the door behind him, but Mycroft held up his hand before he could speak.

"I want to discuss something with you, Mr. Diederich. In English."

Leo frowned, but nodded. "Of course."

"I want to clarify something. My brother informed me that a call was made to my phone while I was occupied in the shower. Am I correct in understanding that you answered it?"

"Oh. Yes, I am sorry, I did not mention it sooner because the work we've been doing has been keeping us quite busy. You had mentioned expecting an urgent call, I did not want you to miss it."

"Mmm. And what was that call? My brother stated it was Sergeant Gregory Lestrade."

Leo scowled for a second at the mention of Greg's name. "Ah, yes. The policeman. He mentioned that he wanted to discuss something with you. He said he would get back with you." Leo smirked. "I do recall him saying something about having just returned from a date."

"Un-fucking-believable" Greg growled, unable to help himself.

For a second, Leo looked startled, but then he calmed himself. "I'm sorry, I thought I heard..."

"That's quite enough." Mycroft sipped his tea and then carefully placed it back on the saucer. "You've just proven that you have been meddling in my private life, Mr. Diederich. I find this unforgivable. Now, I do know we are nearing the end of our arrangements with the legislation, but I will request working with Analia Thane for the remainder of my stay." Mycroft moved the tablet so that Leo could see that Greg was watching and listening. Greg smirked as the man's eyes widened, and, unable to help himself, gave Leo a little wave.

"As you can see, Gregory and I have spoken. He is in my home, awaiting my return. I'd ask you to apologize but I feel that your removal from this room would be more satisfactory." Mycroft held up his hand as a stunned Leo attempted to speak. "Don't reply. Just leave this room - immediately."

Leo stared at them in shock for a moment, then scowled and hurried out, taking care not to slam the door. Greg could not keep himself from giggling a little.

"It is settled." Mycroft turned the tablet so it was facing him. He settled back in his chair, looking utterly satisfied.

"You're amazing." Greg couldn't stop grinning. 

Mycroft looked down and smiled, his cheeks reddening a bit. 

"So...you're almost done with your work there?" Greg asked carefully.

"Yes. Things have been progressing faster than expected." Mycroft began fiddling with his ring. "I should be able to return soon. I anticipate arriving home by next week."

"Next week?" Greg breathed.

"Yes." Mycroft gave him a sly grin. "Next Friday, to be exact."

Greg's heart pounded itself against his chest. "I guess I'll be seeing you soon."

"Indeed." Mycroft's expression turned serious. "I have heard reports of property damage and threats to your colleagues. Can you please provide me with the information that you have?"

Greg gave him a summary of the recent events, and Mycroft assured that he would take every precaution to keep Greg and his friends safe. They also went over the Fast Track program, and Mycroft seemed pleased in knowing that there would be students close to his brother's age.

"Sherlock had always had difficulty with cultivating relationships with people in his age group, but perhaps if he is involved with those who share his interests he might find... companionship." Mycroft stared into space and began twirling his ring around his finger.

The nervous reaction made Greg's heart flutter. "I'll stop by the class on Friday, and I'll keep an eye on your brother." He smiled. "I'll look after him, gorgeous. I swear it."

Mycroft's jaw dropped. "... Gorgeous?"

"What?" Greg asked playfully. "I call 'em like I see 'em."

Mycroft huffed out a nervous laugh. "I must say I do not agree with your assessment..."

"Well, you're wrong."

"...but I appreciate it nonetheless." Mycroft's eyes shone. "As for measures if attraction , you...You are quite the vision, Gregory." He cleared his throat. "I am hopeful that you are comfortable in my home, and...are you finding your stay to be satisfactory?"

"Of course! This is a palace." Greg patted his stomach. "And I've been enjoying Martha's food, so I might be fat when you get back."

"You shall not cease to be quite appealing, regardless of your over consumption of scones." Mycroft shifted a bit in his seat. "If you...if you'd like, you are... welcome to stay in my room...in my bed."

Greg stepped forward, his gaze direct. "Not without you."

Both men stared openly at each other, intent clear.

"Very soon," Mycroft whispered. "I will be home very soon."


	14. Chapter 14

"I saw nothing," the woman whispered for the thousandth time. She ran a shaking hand through her hair. "I swear it. Let me go, please."

The call came early in the day - a group of teens spotted three men, possibly a fourth, entering an apartment building known to house drug dealers. Shots were fired, the men left in a hurry, carrying full bags. They spotted one of the teens recording them with his phone, and fired a gun at him. The other kids fled as their friend dropped dead on the street and the suspects sped away. 

None of the kids stepped forward, but there were witnesses. When they got to the scene, Greg noticed a woman peeking out from an apartment window. As soon as he approached her, she was evasive and nervous. He'd hoped talking to her in her doorway and away from the crime scene would ease her stress, but she only seemed more agitated.

Greg sighed. "Look, um...Miss, Mrs...?"

"No. I'm not giving you my name."

"How about I call you Jane?" Greg suggested. "Does that work for you?"

She sighed and nodded, looking defeated.

"All right. Look, Jane...I get that you're scared. Maybe you just want to go into your home and forget about this horrible fucking day. I know I do."

Jane gave him a searching, almost skeptical look.

"I'm not taking you to the station," Greg continued. "I don't think that's what you need right now."

Her head snapped up in surprise. "You...you're not...?"

"No." Greg took a chance and stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Don't tell the other officers though, yeah? I don't trust all of them."

Jane's face relaxed in relief. "I won't tell anyone else."

"Thank you." He took out one of his cards and wrote on the back of it before handing it to her. "That's my mobile number. Text me if you want to talk or if you need help. If I can't do it alone, I'll only involve people I trust. I swear it."

She nodded and quickly put the card in her pocket. "Thank you, um..."

"Greg." He had a feeling that stating his rank would have scared her off. Plus being on a first name basis usually got people to open up a bit more.

"Thank you, Greg." Jane looked around anxiously and then hurried into her apartment. Greg left before anyone could spot him, not wanting Jane to get noticed by anyone else. 

Detective Chief Inspector Sean Rafferty and Detective Superintendent Jeff Leary were standing by a squad car, looking over notes when Rafferty looked up and smiled grimly. "Find anything new, Lestrade?"

"No sir." Greg felt strange lying to his superiors, but he had become far too paranoid for his own liking. He'd already decided not to tell Inspector Hudson about Jane.

"We'll find the bastards who did this." Leary declared. "You can bet the fucking crown on that."

×××××××××××

Mycroft leaned back in his hotel chair and smirked at the camera. "You are harboring a secret from your fellow officers."

"Christ." Greg leaned forward, placing his face into his hands. 

"It is not overwhelmingly obvious, but as you discussed your day, your gaze was averted and the timber of your voice changed."

Greg huffed out a laugh and sat back in the leather chair he'd placed in front of the TV. "You sure you don't want to become a detective?"

"It would be a welcome repose from my current duties. There are members of the cabinet who are being quite insolent. I quite wish to see them removed from office."

Greg smirked. "Like Leo?"

"He is the Prime Minister's nephew, so he has merely been relocated." Mycroft smiled. "I am extremely pleased with his replacement. Ms. Analia Thane is rather extraordinary." 

"I'm glad to hear it. So, your brother starts Fast Track tomorrow...I have meetings in the morning about what happened with my friend's desks, but Karen's having me act as an observer for the class. She said it would be good to keep me sequestered for a bit."

"I agree. Your safety is paramount." Mycroft cleared his throat. "I have attempted to speak with Sherlock about his upcoming interactions with others, but he has been utterly impossible to speak with on the subject."

Greg smiled. "I'll take care of him, gorgeous. I'm sure he's just nervous."

×××××××××××

"I am not nervous!" Sherlock snapped. He fiddled with his collar and glared at Greg. "Do not stare at me! Your smirk indicates that you find me amusing!"

"Sorry." Greg managed to stop smiling. "Okay, you're not nervous. Now are you ready to leave? If you want to go back to school and say sod it to your permission form..."

The teen huffed and pushed past the detective. "We are leaving now!"

As soon as they arrived to the station, Sherlock scrambled out of the car and practically ran into the building. Greg tried to catch up, but Sherlock had already made his way to the training lab when he got to the front door. An assistant to Allison Chambers assured him Sherlock was with the class. Greg wondered if she was also working with the Holmes family, but was called to a meeting with Hudson and Rafferty and decided not to worry about it.

After Greg gave his statement and was assured that his friends were safe, he asked about Quarry.

"He is no longer with the department," Rafferty stated. "The man is a disgrace. I have heard he is planning to leave town, as Spalling did, but keep an eye out, Lestrade. He might still do something."

Greg suppressed a shudder. "I will, sir. Thank you."

It was lunch time by the time he got out, but Greg decided to pop into the training lab to see how Sherlock was faring. Luckily the training lab had a two way mirror, so Greg could observe without Sherlock noticing.

The students were wearing lab coats and gathered around a slab. Greg couldn't see what was on it, but it wasn't difficult to spot the younger Holmes. He was leaning forward, practically laying down, then stood up straight and muttered something. The other students gasped and snickered, but then the professor murmured an assessment that made them stare at Sherlock in amazement. He merely smirked in response. 

Greg could also see a girl, clearly younger than most of the other students. Her dark hair was pulled in a ponytail, and she kept smoothing at the loose strands whenever Sherlock looked in her direction. There was no sign of the other young boy, and Greg wondered if he'd dropped out of the program.

Lunch was a quick stop to a sandwich shop, and Greg hurried back to see if there were any developments in the case from the previous day. No other witnesses came forward, and those who had either changed their stories or refused to come back in for more questioning.

The whole damn thing was bizarre and infuriating.

Greg was heading back to the training lab, ready to focus on something else for a while, when his phone buzzed with an incoming text.

**\- It's Jane. I have something to tell you... You're not safe.**


	15. Chapter 15

Heart pounding, Greg looked around. No one seemed to be paying attention to him, but he felt... _watched_.

He went outside, needing a smoke and some fresh air. 

The back of the building was an official smoke area, but there was a bench nearby that most people used to eat a solitary lunch or make casual phone calls. Greg hurried to it and sat in the shade, trying to calm himself as he texted back.

_\- Jane, thank you for contacting me. What makes you say that I'm in danger?_

Seconds, minutes - they felt like hours. Finally, she replied. 

**\- I've heard people talking. They described you, knew your name...they were talking about your flat and how you're not staying in it.**

He stared at his phone for a few chilling moments before replying. _-Who were these people?_

**-I know them from the neighborhood.**

**-They do a lot of hired work.**

_\- Like break-ins?_ Greg swallowed. _-Or murder?_

She didn't reply. He tried another tactic. _-Jane, are you sure you're safe?_

Her reply was quick. **\- I'm leaving tonight. Will stay at my sister's out of town.** Greg was about to respond when Jane sent another text.

**\- Are you staying somewhere safe?**

Greg thought of the dramatic flair of the Holmes mansion, and of the friendly but intimidating bodyguards that he'd spotted or met. No unwelcomes were getting close to that estate. _-I am. I promise._

×××××××××××

Jane didn't respond to any more texts. Greg stopped sending questions and focused in sending encouraging messages, praising her for taking care of herself and asking her to check back in with him.

The only thing left to do was wait.

He headed back to the training lab. Karen was right - focusing on something else would help. Stressing himself over everything would only drive himself crazy.

Besides, keeping an eye on Sherlock would make Mycroft happy.

Greg smiled at the memory of those captivating pale blue eyes gazing at him gratefully when he'd promised to look after his brother. He would have done it anyway, but being chivalrous to gain the favor of the most beautiful person he'd ever seen wasn't exactly a difficult decision.

The students were filing in from lunch, with Sherlock trailing at the back,looking irritated. Knowing him, he'd protested against taking a break from examining corpses and hardly ate. 

The girl fr before was fast on his heels, chatting happily. Sherlock turned, and for a moment Greg's heart seized, but Sherlock apparently said something amusing and kind because the girl giggled and nodded. Her response made Sherlock smile a bit, and she blushed as he said something in return.

_Interesting._ Greg had no idea what Sherlock's preferences were, but he clearly had an admirer. He wondered if there was a way to gently broach the subject later that evening without the boy throwing a wobbly.

The assistant who'd approached Greg earlier entered the room just as the students stood around a covered form on a slab. With her was a boy who looked to be Sherlock's age, with blond hair and a slightly muscular build, looking a bit like a rugby player. The boy looked around the room and smiled to himself as the assistant spoke to the instructor, who nodded and turned to the class, clearing his throat.

"Everyone, this is John Watson."

The class greeted him, all except for Sherlock, who didn't turn from the slab. He lifted a corner of the sheet and peered under it while the instructor continued.

"Glad you could join us, John. Why don't you stand next to Molly and Sherlock, who really shouldn't be looking under the sheet just yet, yes, thank you...we will be examining the body in a moment, but first we need to get lab kits for each of you, and then we'll be going over examples of the first stage of decomposition."

John headed over to Sherlock and the girl - Molly - and introduced himself with a smile. Molly shook his hand, beaming as he said something. Sherlock glanced slyly at John but ignored him, taking another peek under the sheet. Molly gestured to Sherlock, and John stepped forward, looking as though he was about to offer a handshake when Sherlock muttered something under his breath.

John froze. So did Molly, and a few nearby students looked up in shock. "What did you just say?" one of them asked incredulously.

Sherlock heaved a sigh. "I _said_ , this man's death of strychnine and cynanide poisoning was accidental. It was self administered, though not with the intent of suicide. He'd been diagnosed with heart disease and attempted to make hudar, which of course contains Strychnos nux-vomica. Being lactose intolerant, he'd opted to switch the traditional milk with almond milk, which he'd obtained from a less than reputable source, as it used bitter almonds rather than sweet almonds, hence the cyanide found in his system. The poisons triggered the heart attack, resulting in his death. An unpremeditated suicide." He placed the sheet back and faced John for the first time, slightly smirking.

A few students scoffed while John and Molly stared at Sherlock. The instructor looked stunned, but then smiled. "A fascinating conclusion, Mr. Holmes. Please, present your evidence."

"The evidence is most apparent." Sherlock pulled back the sheet and pointed. "The milk stains on the shirt, for starters. Also, the tattoo on his right arm - Urdu for "live for love". Hardly the sentiment of a suicidal person. Urdu indicates a familiarity with Unani medicine, which of course explains the ingestion of hudar. The scent of bitter almonds is overwhelmingly apparent, which leads to an obvious conclusion of almond milk. Eczema on the hands and elbows also indicate a possible dairy allergy. His face is flushed and clenched in pain, telltale signs of a cardiac arrest. Live for love, die for milk." Sherlock let the sheet fall back over the body, looking almost bored.

The instructor collected himself and praised Sherlock as the other students continued to gape. Greg grinned and fished out his mobile. _-Hey gorgeous...your brother is already impressing everybody in his class. Also looks like he's made a friend._

He paused, then added to his message. _-Miss you._ He was about to put the phone away when it buzzed. 

_**I am delighted to hear all that you have mentioned. Are you able to converse at this time? -MH** _

Greg quickly made the call. "Hi, gorgeous. Are you on a break?"

"Of sorts, yes," Mycroft purred. "I am quite pleased to hear of Sherlock's progress. I have some rather happy news of my own as well."

Greg bit his lip. "Sounds great. As long as it's not a wedding announcement for you and that new assistant of yours."

"Heavens, no. Analia is an extraordinary woman, but she does not possess certain qualities that would make her irresistible to me."

"Wrong equipment?" Greg offered with a chuckle.

"Hmm." Greg could hear Mycroft's smile. "No. The ultimate deciding factor is that...well. She is not you."

Greg felt his heart flutter. "Mycroft..." His voice trailed off as he was unable to think of a coherent response.

"Gregory...I must confess, I do not wish to wait on telling you my good news. As I've said before, Analia is quite efficient, and with her assistance, I shall return home even earlier than expected."

"When?" Greg whispered.

"Sunday morning."

Greg inhaled sharply. "That's...the day after tomorrow."

"Yes." Mycroft cleared his throat, sounding a bit nervous. "I...I have spoken to Miss Sisson, and she will be taking Sherlock to the Barts Pathology Museum on Sunday. They will be spending the day together."

_And I finally have you all to myself...all day._ "I can't wait," Greg murmured.


	16. Chapter 16

Greg went to pick up Sherlock after his day was over, nearly cheerful. He felt safe, despite the undeniable threats to his safety. He also felt cared for, more so than ever before. Jane was safe as well, Sherlock was attending his classes and excelling in the Fast Track program, and Mycroft would be home soon. 

God, he could not wait...

_Later, think on it later_ , he admonished himself, and hurried over to Sherlock, who was chatting with John and Molly. Greg suddenly got an idea and sent Martha a quick text. Sherlock noticed and made a disgusted noise.

"Must you send sexually explicit texts to my brother in public? I do not care if you find it titullating! It is most repugnant."

Greg sighed as Molly and John looked at the other teenager in shock. "I was not sexting him, Sherlock. I was asking Martha a question."

"Cook is preparing roast duck for dinner. Potatoes as well, some sort of vegetable. Dessert is something with lemons." Sherlock waved his hand around. "There. Question answered."

"Well, that sounds lovely, but it wasn't my question." Greg turned to the Molly and John. "Has he been driving you up the twist?"

Molly giggled while John smirked. "You must know him well, then."

"He's enamored with my brother," Sherlock drawled. "It's revolting."

"I also got you into this program, thank you very much." Greg smirked as Sherlock scoffed. "Well, it looks like I'll have to do my own introductions." He held his hand out to Molly and smiled. "I'm Detective Sergeant Greg Lestrade. You can call me Greg."

The girl gave him a shy smile, her blush deepening. "Molly Hooper. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise, Molly."

"John Watson." The boy offered his hand and a warm smile. His grip was firm - the boy was strong. "I'm studying to be a doctor."

"Excellent! I'll have to keep you in mind for when I need a check up."

Sherlock began fidgeting. "Have you spoken with Mycroft? I must advise him on the lab he's building for me."

"Your brother is building you your own lab?" John asked incredulously.

"Yes, and if my exact specifications are not met, the results will be disastrous." 

Greg's phone buzzed and he checked it while Molly and John gaped at Sherlock. Martha's enthusiastic response to his question made Greg's day. "Yeah, Sherlock's a lucky lad. In fact, he's going to the Barts Pathology Museum on Sunday."

"Oh! How wonderful!" Molly's eyes widened. "They have an exhibit on mercury poisoning that looks incredible."

"I haven't been to Bart's in forever," John said wistfully.

Greg had been planning to pull Sherlock aside to see if he was all right with the idea of inviting the two with him on Sunday, but when he saw the boy's eyes widen slightly and a hint of an excited smile, he knew he didn't have to. "Actually, if you two aren't..."

"You shall both accompany me to the museum," Sherlock declared, stepping forward and looking directly at John. "I will need assistance with securing notes for my lab."

Molly gasped. "Ohh, I would love to! But, are you sure it's okay...?" She cast a searching look at Greg.

"That's what my text was, asking Martha if she was all right with taking you two along with Sherlock. She thinks it's a great idea." Greg smiled reassuringly at her. "So yeah, you're both invited."

"That's..." John looked at Greg, then at Sherlock, and smiled. "That's amazing. Thank you."

"Of course," Sherlock murmured.

Before Greg could begin to ruminate on the intensity in Sherlock's gaze when he looked at John, Greg's phone buzzed again - Martha was calling. "Hey, the kids are -"

"OHHH! Put Sherlock on the phone! Two friends already! Oh, it's exciting!"

Greg bit his lip but couldn't stop his grin as he handed his phone to a flummoxed Sherlock. The boy pursed his lips but warily held the phone to his ear. "Hello..." He flinched as a loud shriek emitted from the mobile. "Yes. Yes, that is most accurate! Congra- oh. Yes, I suppose...I will ask them. Yes, I will do it immediately! Stop squealing!" Sherlock held the phone away from him and stared at the other teens. "Do either of you have any food allergies?"

John frowned. "Er...no..."

Molly shook her head.

"I knew it." Sherlock sighed and put the phone back up to his ear. "They do not have any...it's implied! Fine!" He sighed again. "You are both cordially invited to my home for dinner. We will be having the aforementioned food."

John's face lit up and Molly actually clapped with glee. Greg damn near joined her.

×××××××××××

Dinner was spectacular. The duck was succulent and flavorful, leading Greg and John to pick at the scraps and lick their fingers. Everything was delicious, and the lemon tart was one of the best desserts Greg had ever had.

Sherlock was _cheerful_. He was still snarky and droll, but he kept smiling and even chuckling at a few anecdotes from John and Molly about the other students.

It was like a family dinner, albeit with discussions involving the corpses Greg had found at crime sites and Martha recalling how her drug dealing ex would think up torture methods for thieves. 

The evening was wonderful, full of amazing food, happy friends, and interesting conversation. Still, it felt incomplete without Mycroft.

Greg kept imagining him, picturing him watching his brother with a smile as he captivated his new friends with stories about his research. He'd love the dessert - Greg wanted to be able to feed it to him, piece by piece, watching the enjoyment take over his beautiful features. 

Martha caught him eyeing the empty seat, and held up two fingers. _Two days._ She laughed and winked when Greg blushed.

Molly seemed lovesick as well, gazing at Sherlock with clear adoration. The boy was oblivious, failing to pick up on her flirtatious comments. Instead, his concentration seemed to focus on John.

Greg noticed when Sherlock ate more at John's urging, and how he didn't snip at John's observation that Sherlock would "be an absolute madman if he didn't eat more of this food".

Sherlock also listened when John talked, and didn't interrupt him. He didn't seem to want to turn his back on the other boy. John, for his part, seemed charmed and amused by Sherlock.

Greg wondered if maybe something was there. 

After dinner, Molly insisted on helping Martha clean up. Martha accepted, but shooed Greg away when he tried to step in. 

"Girl time," she stated, and waved him away. "Go call Mycroft."

"I will. But, uh, where's Sherlock and John?" Greg asked. "I can try to convince them to help."

"Ha! That's a good one, trying to get Sherlock to do anything he doesn't want to do. He took John up to his room."

Greg nearly cringed. "They're alone?"

"They'll be fine," Martha cooed. "I'm sure Sherlock won't subject John to any sort of experiments!"

"Wouldn't be so sure about that," Greg mumbled. He sighed, then headed upstairs. Mycroft would not approve of this, and Greg made a promise to look after his brother. 

Even if it meant embarrassing the boy, his paramour, and Greg himself.

Sherlock's door was closed. John was saying something...no. 

Gasping something. Sherlock's name.

"Bloody hell, no." Greg braced himself, and knocked. "Sherlock! Open up!"


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock was predictably irritated. "What?" he demanded through the door.

"Open up." Greg rubbed at his eyes. "Don't make me ask twice." _Christ. Please don't be having sex, please don't be having sex..._

The door flew open. Mercifully, both boys were clothed, and John stood near Sherlock's desk with something in his hand. He was shaking with laughter, and could only get out the other boy's name.

"What is it?" Sherlock demanded, his eyes wide and his face a touch crimson. "Explain your disturbance."

"What are you two up to?" Greg looked around the room, sighing when Sherlock kept moving around to block his line of vision. "Sherlock..."

"Just...talking." John pointed to his hand, which held a familiar looking jaw bone. "Did he...did he _really_ blow up a pig's head?"

"Ah. That he did." Greg raised an eyebrow at the teen in question. "I'm surprised you told him about that."

"I was recalling my experiment, but John has chosen to focus on the least significant part of the procedure."

"Since when is an exploding pig not significant?" John chuckled and carefully set the jawbone back on Sherlock's desk. "Never met someone with all sorts of bones in his room."

Sherlock nearly preened as he strolled toward him. "It is most essential that I maintain specimens. My lab will house even more examples of such items."

"Cool." John looked around the room, glancing at Sherlock's books and other possessions. Greg watched Sherlock's intense stare on the other boy as he walked around, familiarizing himself with everything. 

The room seemed charged with expectation. Greg could barely stand it. He cleared his throat. "So, um, you lads should help with dishes. Plus Martha's gotta take you both home..."

"Oh! Yeah, sure. See you downstairs." John smiled and headed out, giving Greg a quick nod as he passed him. Greg waited until he heard the boy's footsteps on the stairs, then cleared his throat again. 

Sherlock stomped to his desk and began fiddling with papers. "State whatever it is that you are clearly desperate to declare and leave."

"Look... Sherlock...um, I'm not sure having the door closed while you have another boy, or, um, person in here is a good idea."

The boy frowned. "Explain."

Greg chewed his lower lip. "Well...ah. When I was younger, my parents wouldn't let me be in my room with the door closed if a girl was in there too."

"John is not a girl."

"Right, and as it turns out, they probably shouldn't have let me close the door with a boy in there with me either..."

"Yes, yes." Sherlock flapped his hand around. "This is all extraordinarily fascinating, this enthralling tale about your youthful affixation for doors, but I have lost my patience for it." With that, he strolled past Greg and headed downstairs.

Greg shook his head. "I'll leave this up to you, Mycroft" he muttered, and turned to follow.

×××××××××××

Martha took John and Molly home, and Sherlock sequestered himself in his room and began playing his violin.

Greg began to head for Mycroft's room but received a text.

**Apologies, Detective Lestrade. Mr. Holmes is still dining with the Duke and will not be able to converse with you via video conferencing tonight. He sends his most personal regrets, and hopes to be able to contact you via text later this evening. -- A.T.**

"Huh." This Analia Thane must have really struck a chord with Mycroft if he entrusted her to send private messages. Greg texted a quick thank you and headed to his room. 

In some ways, this was a blessing. Greg had already decided not to tell Mycroft about Jane - he'd want to sweep in and take over, and that would just scare her away. Mycroft would be able to tell the Greg was hiding something, and he'd be forced to tell him everything.

Feeling hopeful, Greg sent Jane a text. _I hope everything is okay._

After he changed and brushed his teeth, he checked his phone. Jane had replied.

_\- I am fine. Thanks... Hope you're okay too._

_There are some things I need to tell you.. but I would rather do it in person. My sister said you'd have to come alone._

Greg rubbed his eyes. This could be a set up. Go some place where no one knew him, alone, vulnerable. Maybe this whole thing was concocted by the people who wanted him out of the picture. He'd get there and then they'd...

No. No, that would not happen. The fear in Jane's eyes...that was real.

He sent a reply. _I'm free tomorrow. But I'm not coming unarmed, or without my phone._

This was it. Either she'd reject that out of paranoia, or because it was in fact a set up and the people after him would want him as helpless as possible.

Greg got into bed, staring at the ceiling. Sherlock was still playing, a sweet sounding melody. It almost sounded like hope.

His phone buzzed and he grinned. It was a welcome sight. 

**_Gregory...may I phone you in approximately two minutes? I do miss the sound of your voice. - M_ **

_Yes, please! I miss you._ Greg was going to set his phone down when he got another text. 

_\- I don't expect you to come here without being able to defend yourself. Be safe._ Jane included her sister's address as well as directions. He would arrive there tomorrow at 12:30. 

"Don't hate me for this, Mycroft," Greg murmured, and settled in bed to wait for his phone call.


	18. Chapter 18

"Gregory." That beloved voice would be the end of him. "I do apologize for not being able to video conference with you earlier. I am afraid this will have to be a brief call, as I have some things I must attend to very early in the morning."

"It's all right," Greg soothed, and settled against the small mountain of pillows against his back. "How are you, gorgeous?"

Mycroft chuckled. "Very well, my dear. I am very much looking forward to seeing you again."

"Mmm. Me too." Greg smiled and cuddled against a pillow. "Missed you tonight."

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm. Sherlock had friends over for dinner. Molly and John."

Mycroft was silent for a moment. "Tell me about them," he said softly.

Greg smiled. "Molly's a sweet girl. Loves forensics. John is a good lad, plans on being a doctor. They seem to get a kick out of your brother." A question rolled around in Greg's head, and he decided to be bold. "Do you know, um...what sort of preference Sherlock has? If any?"

"Preference?" Mycroft sounded puzzled. "In what regard?"

"Er. Boys or girls? Or both? Neither?"

"Gregory, my dear, I haven't the slightest notion of what you are inquiring."

Greg winced. "Ah hell. Gonna make me come right out and say it. I'm asking if Sherlock goes for boys or girls. Romantically. I know it's not my business, but Molly is keen on him, and John...well, there might be something there. I'm not sure. Your brother feels strongly for John. That I can tell."

"Good heavens." Mycroft huffed. "How long has he known these people?"

"Not long. But I haven't known you for very long either," Greg pointed out. "Sometimes you connect with people very quickly."

"That is true." 

The silence rolls over them, a bit tense but already slightly familiar. Greg wondered if he overstepped his boundaries when Mycroft cleared his throat.

"As far as... preferences, I will admit that I am unsure. I've not seen him carry much of an interest in someone else, at least not of a romantic persuasion. I would, however, venture that he finds the male form pleasing."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Did you find a stash of magazines?"

"Thankfully, no. Before his passing, Father enrolled me in a figure drawing class, which employed models for us to portray in our drawings. After a particular session, I discovered some of my drawings of a local male gymnast were missing. I later found them in Sherlock's washroom, tucked in a book about photosynthesis that I meant to borrow."

"Huh."

"Needless to say, I left them there, and never asked him about it."

"Well, I don't think John's a gymnast, but he mentioned playing rugby during dinner. I guess your brother goes for athletes." Greg sighed. "Poor Molly. Ah, well. I guess we can't always get what we want, eh?"

Mycroft chuckled. "And some of us are quite fortunate."

Greg giggled and nuzzled against his pillow. "God. Can't wait to see you."

"Likewise, my dear."

×××××××××××

Jane's sister lived in Oxfordshire, which was a hell of a drive, but Greg didn't care. Jane was scared, she knew something, and she wanted to talk.

Mycroft would probably be livid if he found out where Greg was going by himself, but it was just one afternoon. He would be back tomorrow, so it was really the only chance Greg had to talk to Jane in a place she felt safe.

The house was a charming looking cottage in the middle of a sprawling sea of green. It was the exact sort of place someone would want to escape to; far from the city, but not isolated. It was peaceful, and the opposite of the run down apartment building Jane had lived in.

Greg parked to the side and was about to get out when he saw a woman step out of the front door, holding her phone out. She was video recording him.

"Badge please," she instructed as she moved forward. 

Greg smiled, or at least tried to. "You must be Jane's sister. I'm Detective Sergeant Greg Lestrade." He slowly took out his badge and held it up. "You knew I was coming, Miss...?"

"Catherine." She beckoned for Greg to hold the badge closer and squinted at it. After a moment she nodded, satisfied. "Come in then."

×××××××××××

Once inside, Catherine led Greg to the kitchen table and busied herself getting tea ready. Jane emerged from a back room and sat at the table with Greg, offering him a wan smile.

"Sorry about the inspection. Catherine's protective of me," she said softly. 

Greg smiled. "I understand. I'm here to help."

"Good, she needs it." Catherine set down two mugs and sugar. "Seeing what those so-called coppers did to that young man, shooting him like he was nothing..."

Greg's heart skipped. "Wait, what?"

Jane winced. "Cath..."

Her sister paused. "Shit. I thought he knew."

"Wait." The room seemed warmer, heavier. "Officers shot that boy?"

Jane took a deep breath. "Yes. I didn't see their faces, okay? But I heard them talking...a few men, and a woman. These officers...they work with you, Detective. They talked about you like..."

"Like what?" Greg demanded, his throat dry.

Jane shuddered. "Like they see you every day," she whispered.


	19. Chapter 19

_"They were talking about what you were doing each day. Going to watch a class, teaching other officers. A few of them mentioned someone named Spalling...called you a grasshopper."_

The road stretched ahead, daylight fading into darkness. Greg drove on, gripping the wheel tightly.

_"They know you're staying with someone...called you a hateful name I won't repeat. They said they couldn't get to you at home anymore. Had to 'apply pressure' at the station."_

His jaw ached from clenching. Pain throbbed at his temples.

_"Are you sure you're safe, Detective?"_

Greg's stomach heaved. He pulled over, staggered out to the grass, and vomited.

×××××××××××

After returning the car to the garage at the Holmes estate, Greg locked himself in the nearest washroom. He ran cold water over his face and ducked down to drink from the tap. After a few moments he turned off the water and stood up, staring at his reflection.

_Am I safe?_

Mycroft would be home soon. It was a matter of hours, really. Once he got back, Greg would come clean about Jane.

In the meantime, who could be trusted?

Inspector Hudson - she was new, and vouched for by Mycroft. Everyone else was potentially an enemy. His superiors. The constables - Tom, Alex, JJ, Laura, Danny, Carrie. They all seemed like good people. Good coppers.

Seemed like.

But then, Penny had overheard a couple of constables herself, saying that they were going to help teach Greg a lesson. Assuming Penny had been telling the truth. 

Penny. David. Megan. Henry. His mates. He'd known them for years. They'd been targeted themselves, with threatening letters and the bug spray poured on their desks. Unless...that had all been orchestrated to make it look like an outsider did it. 

It could all have been a ruse. 

_"A few men, and a woman..."_

Jane couldn't detect an accent, or anything that would help to determine who she overheard. It could have been anyone. 

Greg headed to the study, needing to concentrate. Sherlock was playing music in his room, and Greg had mercifully avoided seeing him when he got in. He couldn't answer questions now. He had too many of his own. 

The study held Mycroft's presence just as his room did. Being surrounded by the dark wood and smell of leather was soothing and empowering - it was starting to feel like home. Greg settled into the chair Mycroft had occupied the night he shared brandy with him and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was looking into a sea of blue-green - two piercing eyes staring intently at him. "Lestrade."

Greg recoiled and flailed against the chair. "Sherlock!"

"You were sleeping," the boy accused, and stood up straight with his hands behind his back. 

"So what if I was? Christ, Sherlock, you scared the hell out of me!"

Sherlock tutted. "You must wake and speak to my brother. He is being intolerable and revolting."

Greg rubbed his eyes. "Mycroft is calling?"

"Yes. You must go to his room immediately."

Greg sighed. "Sherlock, I've had a horrible day..."

"Do not speak to me of horrible days! Mine was worse, I assure you. Mycroft has undressed himself for you and I was forced to bear witness to his plenteous gelatinous flesh!"

"... He's naked?"

"Very nearly so." Sherlock scoffed as Greg scrambled to his feet. "Upon our meeting, detective, I did not take you for a chubby chaser."

"Oh, for..." Greg gave him a dirty look as he headed upstairs. "Your brother is not fat. If you actually think that, then you need to work on your observational methods or you'll be a crap detective."

Sherlock sputtered. "I will become the greatest detective the world has ever known! I will solve the unsolvable! And with John Watson at my side, I shall become -"

Greg stopped short. _Holy shit._ "You and John?"

The teen's eyes widened. "I...that is..."

"Does he...know that you've included him in your future plans?"

"Well." Sherlock began tugging on the cirds of his shirt. "We've not discussed...certain plans..."

"Sherlock..." Greg stepped forward. "You've only just met John."

"And how long have you known Mycroft?"

"Fair point. But Sherlock... Mycroft and I feel the same way about each other." Greg paused, unsure of how to proceed. "Do you know...are you sure that John is even inclined to..."

"Go attend to my brother," Sherlock snapped, and stomped to his room. The door slam behind him nearly shook the whole house. 

Entering Mycroft's room and seeing the man himself on the videoscreen was a balm to Greg's soul. Regrettably, the elder Holmes was not in fact naked, but he had a white linen shirt on with a couple of the top buttons undone. He sat on the edge of his hotel bed with a hopeful smile.

"Oh, Mycroft." Greg nearly collapsed on to the man's bed. "God, you're a sight for sore eyes."

Mycroft's smile disappeared. "Gregory. What is troubling you?"

Greg sat up and sighed. "You were right. My fellow officers include conspirators, murderers, criminals. And they want me gone. Not sure if they want me dead, per se, but..."

"Gregory." Mycroft stood up, looking horrified. "Please tell me you have not taken unnecessary reckless steps to find out more information on the subject."

_Shit._ "I'm fine, Gorgeous."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "Gregory."

"Look, I'll tell you more about it tomorrow. In person. But I'm fine now, I swear it." Greg put on his most winning smile. "I can't wait to see you."

Mycroft sighed. "We _shall_ discuss this indeed. And I...am very much looking forward to seeing you."

"When you do get into England? Are you flying in by helicopter or plane?"

"Both, actually. I stressed to Anthea that I wanted the fastest route home."

"I thought her name was Analia?"

"Ah, yes. But as she has decided to retire from her work in Luxembourg in order to work directly with me, she felt it was time for a change." Mycroft began turning his ring around his finger and cleared his throat. "I shall arrive there via helicopter around noon. Miss Sisson has assured me that she will be at the museum with Sherlock from eleven o'clock to approximately four in the afternoon."

_Four hours to fuck you senseless._ "Fantastic. I can't wait."

×××××××××××

Greg spent the rest of the day feeling exhausted. Martha's delicious stew and pleasant company gave him a boost, but worrying over his situation (and Sherlock, who wouldn't leave his room) led to him crashing early.

The next morning, he woke to the sound of beautiful music, and the smell of pancakes.

"Could get used to this," Greg mused to himself, and roused himself out of bed. After throwing on a shirt and lounge trousers, he headed to Sherlock's room. 

The boy was staring out his window, playing his violin. A notebook was open on his desk, which was littered with crumpled balls of torn pages.

Greg cleared his throat. "Sherlock."

The playing stopped, and Sherlock turned slightly. "Lestrade."

Greg smiled. "C'mon. Let's go get some pancakes."

Sherlock sighed and put up his violin. "I suppose." 

They headed downstairs in silence. Greg knew not to make idle chatter; he just wanted to remind the boy that he was a friend. He'd provoked him by suggesting he'd be a crap detective, even if Greg was bloody tired of hearing Sherlock's taunts about his brother's non-existent weight issues. Plus, Sherlock obviously was rather fixated on John Watson. Maybe if Sherlock felt comfortable enough, he'd be able to talk to Greg about it.

Martha cheerfully greeted them with pancakes, eggs, tomatoes, and bacon. Greg resisted the urge to tease Sherlock about the pig head incident, but the boy was so enamored with texting that Greg wondered if he would even notice.

"Excited to see some bodies at the museum, Sherlock?" Martha asked, setting a cup of tea in front of the teenager. He merely grunted in response.

Greg tried a different tactic and addressed Martha directly. "So, are Molly and John meeting you at the museum?"

Sherlock briefly glanced at Greg at the mention of John's name, but continued to text.

"Yes, and then we'll be having lunch. I've already told them they're welcome to come back for dinner. Who knows, maybe they could stay the night!"

Sherlock scoffed. "I doubt they'll want to stay here with my corpulent brother's return. He and Lestrade will have the entire estate reeking of coitus."

"Sherlock!" Martha looked scandalized. "Be respectful."

Greg shrugged. "We'll be sure to open the windows after we shag in your room."

Sherlock's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "You..."

"I'm joking, you twit!" Greg snorted and stole a piece of bacon off his plate as Martha giggled. "Christ. Relax, will you? You should be happy. You'll get to see corpses soon, and with Mycroft back, you can give him your notes on the lab he'll be building."

The boy actually grinned for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Yes, and I have quite a few ideas."

"Maybe your friends will have some suggestions too," Greg said as casually as he could, sipping at his tea.

Sherlock's gaze softened. "Perhaps. It would be beneficial to get the input from those with average intelligence."

Greg snorted. "Don't tell them that when you ask for their opinion, yeah? Say something nice."

"Mmmph. Sentiment."

As the day went on, tensions grew and Greg and Sherlock were practically snapping at each other as they prepared for the afternoon. When ten thirty came around, Sherlock grunted a goodbye and Martha gave Greg a quick hug and a wink. "Have fun," she whispered, and then they were gone.

The house was empty. Mycroft would arrive soon. It would finally be just the two of them. 

Ten forty-five. Eleven o'clock. 

Greg showered, shaved, got dressed in his favorite jeans and an old Clash shirt, and put on a bit of cologne. He checked his bag for supplies - did he have enough condoms and lube? 

_Calm down. Christ._

Eleven thirty. Eleven forty-five.

Greg paced. He checked his phone. After a few minutes, he started to panic and contemplated changing. Should he dress up for Mycroft's arrival? No, that would be stupid. Or would it? Greg cursed and ran his hand through his hair. He was about to run upstairs and check his clothes when he heard something. He grinned as he realized what it was.

A helicopter in the distance.


	20. Chapter 20

Greg ran outside and watched the helicopter land, his heart pounding. A familiar tall figure sat in the back.

_Oh God, he's here._

He felt as if he was outside his own body as he walked closer to the helicopter, the wind whipping fiercely as Mycroft got out. A woman stepped out after him, handing a bag to a man in a chauffeur uniform. She spoke to him, then gestured to the helicopter pilot. The pilot nodded, and then ascended. The woman then shook Mycroft's hand and stepped into an awaiting car, which then pulled away and headed away from the Holmes estate. 

They were alone. 

Mycroft was approaching. He wasn't running, but his movements were brisk. He was walking with purpose, gaze straight ahead. 

Greg ran. It started as a quick walk, then a jog, then a run as the gap between them grew smaller.

Close. 

So many weeks of wanting, aching for him. Needing to finally touch him and be touched, to claim this beautiful man.

Closer. Closer.

_Here._

"Mycroft!" Greg slowed so he wouldn't crash into him. He reached out, crushing them together. _Mycroft_. That same incredible cologne made Greg feel light headed - that musky scent of woods and the sweetness underneath that made Greg salivate.

_He's back. He's here._

Mycroft embraced him, his hands all over Greg's back. They breathed hard in each other's necks, hearts pounding. 

_"Mycroft."_ Greg shivered. "God...please."

"Gregory." Mycroft said his name as if it was a holy relic. "Oh, Gregory."

Greg reached for him, cupping Mycroft's face in his hands, and pressed their mouths together.

They both nearly collapsed as they kissed. They pushed against each other and moaned, hands in each other's hair. Movements became frantic. Greg was already hard, and when he felt Mycroft's erection brush against him he gasped. "Oh, fuck."

Mycroft froze, then kissed him again, growling. Greg's knees actually weakened and he clutched at Mycroft desperately. 

"Now," Mycroft murmured. "Now."

Somehow Greg nodded and they turned and ran inside the house.

They did not make it far. As soon as they entered the house they pulled at each other, unfastening and loosening each other's clothes. Mycroft guided him upstairs, kissing and fondling on the way. Soon Greg found himself laying against the stairs as Mycroft pulled at his jeans. Greg tried to calm himself. 

_breathe breathe breathe don't come yet don't come oh fuck oh FUCK_

Soft, wet warmth, fucking tight suction...up and down, sucking, licking. Greg could feel himself get swallowed and sucked.

"Sh-shit. Oh my god. Fuck. Holy...s-stop, oh f-fuck, gonna come if you don't stop." Greg whined as Mycroft pulled back, panting himself.

"Want to taste you," Mycroft growled. "But not here. I want you in my bed."

Greg stood and allowed Mycroft to pull him up, feeling dizzy with lust. His cock bobbed eagerly, still wet with saliva. Greg let himself be led to Mycroft's bedroom, his hands wandering.

"Oh, Gregory." Mycroft sighed as Greg ran his hands over him, tilting his head as his neck was kissed and nipped at. "Oh, darling...yes..."

"Clothes off," Greg murmured, and unbuttoned Mycroft's trousers. The other man shook as Greg reached in and fondled him, running his hands over Mycroft's cock, caressing his balls.

"Big man," Greg growled. "Want you to fuck me. Want to fuck you. Want all of it."

Mycroft moaned and thrust against his touch, smearing precome over Greg's palms. He was incredibly wet, dripping all over Greg's fingers.

"Fuck ..mmm, yes. Want you." Greg took a hand out and licked at his fingers, sighing at the taste. "Mmm. Want more." He sunk to his knees and pulled Mycroft's cock out, grinning as it jerked in enthusiasm. "Mmm, yes. All mine." Greg opened his mouth wide and stuck his tongue out, teasing both of them as the head of Mycroft's cock jumped at the contact with Greg's tongue. 

Mycroft was breathless, standing over Greg, still mostly dressed. Greg scooted forward, his tongue curling under Mycroft's shaft. He licked as precome dribbled onto his tongue, pooling and dripping down his throat. Greg closed his mouth and swallowed, then sucked hard.

Curses and pleas filled the room as Greg sucked and slurped, swallowing frequently. He moved closer, humming as the head of Mycroft's cock began nudging at the opening of his throat. Greg kept swallowing, relishing in the taste of his leaking prick. He moved faster, his hands wandering until they rested on Mycroft's hips. Mycroft's hands covered his own, shaking.

"Darling...oh, Gregory...please, darling, I must have you...you must cease immediately, or I shall...oh _fuck_..."

Hearing Mycroft plead and curse made Greg growl in approval. He pulled back and gently bit at Mycroft's legs as he recovered, making him jump. 

"Big man." Greg smiled and nuzzled at his thighs. "Want you now, beautiful."

The bed was large and incredibly soft. Greg sighed and stretched against the mattress as Mycroft ran his fingers over his thighs, caressing him with teasing strokes over his entrance.

"More," Greg moaned. "You."

Mycroft smiled. "Now, darling?"

_Fuck._ "Yes. Please, gorgeous. Need you."

"One moment, my dear." Mycroft reached for his nightstand. 

"Got more stuff in my room," Greg mumbled. 

"This is now your room. It is ours." Mycroft carefully opened a box of condoms and took out a single foil. Greg's heart rate shot up as he watched him open it. "You shall sleep in here, with me," Mycroft murmured, sliding the condom over his cock. "My possessions are yours to share." 

"Oh, god." Greg was mesmerized as Mycroft carefully slicked himself with lube, then wiped his hands with a nearby towel before turning back to Greg and parting his legs further.

"Are you comfortable, darling?" Mycroft whispered.

"Yes," Greg whispered, and lifted his hips. "Please, now."

It wasn't a dream. It was _real_ , so real and raw and incredible. 

Greg forced himself to breathe as Mycroft positioned himself at his entrance, very gently pushing his head against him. Greg gasped, reaching for Mycroft. Long arms wrapped around him and held him close. Mycroft's heart was pounding.

"Kiss me," Greg whispered, and Mycroft brought a hand up to caress his face as they kissed. He moved forward, starting to breach inside, and Greg moaned. His body began to relax, welcoming Mycroft in, but still he moved slowly and carefully. Greg's head fell back and he groaned. Mycroft was fucking _enormous_. It felt incredible, and Greg couldn't hold back a gasp when his lover's cock was completely inside him, throbbing against his prostate. 

They wordlessly clung to each other, far beyond speech. Mycroft rolled his hips, then slowly pulled out, not quite leaving Greg's body. He hissed as he moved back in. "Oh... Gregory..."

"Fuck." Greg's leaking cock was trapped between them. "Oh, fuck, Mycroft..."

"Tell me," Mycroft gasped as he moved, his grey eyes wide. "Tell me this is all right."

"S'perfect." Greg clutched onto him. "Christ...so good..."

"I have wanted you since I first saw you" Mycroft whispered. "You are incredible. Beautiful, brave... incredible. Oh... Gregory..."

"Wanted you," Greg moaned, and arched his hips, making them both cry out. "Fuck! Oh god... Fuck, you're sexy. Wanted you too, as soon as I saw you. Fucking gorgeous...big..." Greg's legs began to shake. "Close. Close, oh fuck..."

Mycroft began panting and moved faster. "Darling, yes. You may come. Feel me. You are so tight around me. Beautiful man."

Greg whimpered and began to shake, holding onto Mycroft desperately. "Oh god.. so good in me. Want to fuck you. Want my cock in you. Want this, want you...Oh Christ, right there...there...fuck..."

His orgasm hit him hard, making him writhe and gasp. Mycroft held onto him, still fucking slow and deep. As Greg pulsed out an orgasm and coated both their stomachs, Mycroft's breathing quickened and he moved a bit faster, more insistently.

"Mmm.." Greg felt dizzy from his climax, and the feel of his lover inside him, so close himself. "Fuck me," Greg whispered, holding onto him. He was still shaking. "Come inside me. I'm all yours."

"Darling... Gregory." With a gasp and a shiver, Mycroft sheathed himself inside his lover. His features twisted in pleasure, and began to moan, pulsing out his own release. Greg held into him and cooed soothingly, squeezing his internal muscles as Mycroft finished climaxing. 

"Gorgeous. All mine." Greg kissed his neck and pulled him close. 

"Greg." Mycroft shuddered as he pushed inside one last time, then rested on top of him. "My darling...you are perfect."

Greg laughed softly and carded his fingers through Mycroft's hair - soft, auburn, beautiful. "Was just thinking that about you, love."

Mycroft kissed Greg's neck and withdrew carefully, then collapsed onto his back and sighed. "You are wonderful."

"Sweet man." Greg curled up against Mycroft and reached between his legs. "Here...let me get that off you."

Mycroft grabbed two washcloths and cleaned himself once Greg slipped the condom off him. He used another to reach around and carefully cleaned Greg, then placed them into a nearby bag. Greg looked closer and grinned when he saw it was a small monogrammed laundry bag.

"Posh." Greg giggled and then sighed as Mycroft ran his long fingers through his hair. "Wow."

"Mmm. I do agree." Mycroft bent to kiss Greg's forehead. "I have missed you" he murmured.

"Missed you too." Greg hugged him and grinned. "I'm glad we're together now. No more guessing, or wondering."

"Indeed." Mycroft began stroking Greg's back, and the soothing motion along with fatigue settled in. Before he knew it, Greg felt himself begin to doze. He heard Mycroft murmur, "Sleep, my darling," and let himself succomb to exhaustion.

×××××××××××

Greg was somewhat aware of being in someone else's bedroom, and of waking on top of someone else, when his memories of that afternoon arrived. He smiled and turned his head to watch Mycroft sleep. Tousled auburn hair, pale skin with patterns of freckles on his legs, and arms, all to be kissed and nuzzled against.

_My Mycroft. Beautiful._

Unable to help himself, Greg pressed his lips to Mycroft's chest, right above his heart. The body under him stirred and soon those long arms tightened around him. 

"Good afternoon, Gregory."

Greg closed his eyes. God, this was amazing. "Can we stay in bed all day?"

"Hmm." Mycroft began stroking his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. "At some point, we should shower, and eat. It would be best to be clothed when the others arrive. My brother would be grateful."

"Mmm. All good points." Greg sat up and stretched, then glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Maybe we should...shower together. You know, save time." He leered and wiggled his eyebrows.

Mycroft chuckled and kissed his forehead. "I do agree. Though we must not get too distracted."

Greg opened his eyes wide. "Me? Distracting? Never." He got out of bed and made a show of stretching, then let his hands drift lazily over his body, sighing. He peeked and grinned to see his lover gaping at him. "Hmm. Maybe I am distracting." Greg licked his lips. "Want to come into the shower and teach me a lesson?"

Mycroft tossed the sheets aside and Greg hurried into the washroom with a giggle.


	21. Chapter 21

"Mmm." Greg bit his lower lip as Mycroft slowly rocked inside him. Long fingers pressed against his hips, keeping him balanced under the streams of water.

Greg usually didn't care for shower sex. It was dangerous and slippery, but this shower was made for it. He could rest his head against the tile and grasp the edges of the niche to steady himself. There was a seat too, and Greg imagined either riding Mycroft or being ridden. 

The thought made him moan.

Mycroft hummed and kissed at his neck. "Enjoying yourself, my darling?"

"Mmhmm." Greg pushed back against his lover, hearing him gasp in response. "How is it for you?"

Mycroft smiled against his ear. "Exquisite," he whispered.

Greg shivered. "Don't think when we're finished that I'm anywhere near done with you."

"I certainly hope not." Mycroft nuzzled against his shoulder. "I look forward to experiencing anything you might have planned."

"Want to fuck you," Greg moaned. His cock jumped at the thought. Inside Mycroft's body, tight and warm... "Would that be okay?"

Mycroft exhaled. "God, yes." He kissed his neck and shivered. "Now, Gregory. Take me."

Somehow they managed to quickly exit the shower without injury. Mycroft grabbed a towel and quickly dried both of them, but his skin was still slick when he climbed into Greg's lap and kissed him.

"So handsome," he whispered. "My god, Gregory..."

"Fuck, I want you." Greg let his hands wander over Mycroft's sides, caressing him. His body still tingled with the feel of his lover inside him, and knowing that soon he'd feel that same sensation, that tightness...

This was not going to last long, but damn it, Greg was going to make it good.

Mycroft continued to kiss him. Greg's hands wandered to his hair, running his fingers through soft, damp locks that were starting to curl. 

Between them Mycroft reached down, lingering on Greg's chest and running his fingers through his chest hair before carefully taking his cock in hand. A condom was gently lowered, and after a few affectionate caresses, Mycroft began coating Greg's cock with lube, making Greg's pulse skyrocket. 

"Now," Mycroft whispered, and positioned himself over his lover. Greg held onto him and shivered. 

_Oh god. Okay. Think of something distracting. Okay, yeah. Know Your Rights. Car Jamming...Oh Jesus, right there...Know Your Rights, Should I Stay or Should I Go...oh fuck, so tight holy shit..._

"Gregory." Mycroft closed his eyes and pushed himself lower, wincing slightly. "Ahh...big."

"Slow," Greg managed. "Go slow, baby. M'pretty thick...don't want to hurt you."

Mycroft sighed and moved carefully, inch by inch. Greg watched him, mesmerized as his body claimed him. Slow, gentle movements, getting him inside...there were no distractions now. His mind could only concentrate on the feel and the sight of his lover as he lowered himself completely.

Everything froze. Mycroft gasped and shivered. He whispered Greg's name and reached out, grasping at his shoulders. Slowly he began to move, making them both curse.

Greg growled, digging his fingers into Mycroft's hips. He was not going to last long, not with Mycroft's body gripping him like a vise...warm, tight..."Ride me. Ride me, babe...oh shit, yeah..."

Mycroft's eyes closed as he slowly moved up and down. His breath hitched with each downward movement. Greg watched him, enthralled, determined not to come too quickly. 

Oh, but Mycroft was _beautiful_. Those sharp yet delicate features were slack in pleasure. His lithe body moved with purpose. Long fingers stretched across Greg's chest. 

_So beautiful._

"You're perfect," Greg whispered, nearly lost in his own pleasure. 

Mycroft opened his eyes and gazed at him. Greg's heart beat faster at the sight of those gray colored eyes.

"My Gregory." Mycroft rolled his hips and Greg whimpered. "Darling...oh, my Gregory." His movements sped up. They were approaching the end, but the sensations were not to be ignored. All that time of both of them wanting, hoping, aching....

Unable to help himself, Greg arched up, making Mycroft cry out and push against him. _He likes it._ Greg did it again, this time taking Mycroft's cock in his hand and stroking him in time with his thrusts. Mycroft cried out again, moving faster and riding Greg harder.

"Fuck yeah, take it." Greg's hand was nearly coated in precome. "Take it, gorgeous. S'yours, ride it. It's all yours."

Mycroft moaned in response and moved even faster, nearly bouncing and increasing the speed of Greg's hand. He was close. The knowledge of that, and the feel of him brought Greg right to the edge. 

His body nearly seized, then shuddered. He arched up, bringing hands on Mycroft's hips and lowering him to get as deep as possible. Greg's eyes screwed shut and he shouted, feeling his orgasm pulse out of him. Dimly he was aware of Mycroft following him, crying out and covering Greg's chest with his own release. They pushed against each other and rode out the rest of their orgasms, shaking and holding each other as they tried to find a way back to reality. 

Another shower followed. Mycroft lead Greg into the Rose Bedchamber to gather his things, and sucked him off on the bed before leading him back his bedroom - theirs, now. They went downstairs to replenish themselves with food, and Greg bent Mycroft over the kitchen table, fucking him as hard as he dared, then sucked his cock while Mycroft sat at his usual place at the dinner table, moaning helplessly and running his fingers through Greg's hair.

They ended up back in Mycroft's bedroom, which Greg felt right at home in, and dozed in each other's arms.

×××××××××××

Greg was running. Someone was after him...no, a group. They were gaining on him, shouting threats. Voices that sounded familiar, but he couldn't place them.

_"You're dead, you fucking traitor!"_

_"Going to slit your fucking throat! Fucking grasshopper!"_

He was unarmed. Vulnerable. He tried to run but they were too fast...closer...

_No please I have to live fuck off no no no_

Another voice, far more familiar, saying his name. 

"Gregory. Darling, please awaken."

Greg blinked his eyes open at looked up at a concerned Mycroft. "Hey... what's...?"

"You were in the throes of a distressing dream," Mycroft said, running a soothing hand through Greg's hair. The sensation made Greg close his eyes. "You were calling for help."

"Sorry." Greg reached for Mycroft and pulled him to his chest. "Didn't mean to wake you." He cleared his throat and looked away. "Just a nightmare. How much time do we have?"

"Enough for more rest, and for you to tell me what is bothering you." Mycroft sat up and looked Greg in the eye. "There is something you have omitted from previous conversations."

Greg sighed. "Yeah...erm. There was a witness to the recent shooting. Jane."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "An alias."

"Christ. How do you...? Yeah, an alias." Greg sighed again and patted the bed next to him. "Come here, love. I'll tell you everything."


	22. Chapter 22

"Gorgeous...babe, wait."

Greg hurried after Mycroft, cursing as he swatted away branches. The forest behind the grounds was massive and beautiful. He'd enjoy it more if he wasn't chasing after his furious boyfriend.

"Cease speaking," Mycroft snapped, and kept striding ahead. "I am thinking."

Greg sighed quietly. After he'd told Mycroft everything, the other man wordlessly got out of the bed and picked up his phone, sending a few texts. He'd tersely informed Greg that a cleaning crew was arriving and that the two of them were to speak alone. Outside. _Now._

They approached a clearing, and Mycroft stopped. There was a small lake, with a bench overlooking it. Greg looked longingly at it. His body was aching from sex and stress, and all he wanted to do was hold Mycroft in his arms and assure him it would all be okay.

What he really wanted was to hear it said back to him.

"My? Hey... listen..."

"No, you listen!" Mycroft whirled on him, his eyes wide. He was shaking with anger. "How dare you keep this from me! You have put yourself in a dangerous situation! My guards had no knowledge of this! How?"

Greg winced. "Babe..."

"Do not refer to me in such terms!"

Greg's throat tightened. He clenched his fist to fight off his emotional reaction. "I'm sorry. I wanted Jane to feel safe."

"And what of your safety? Does that not matter to you?"

"Of course it does!"

"Then why, damn it! Why not tell me?"

"I'm a fucking policeman!" Greg shouted. "I'm not an idiot, and I'm not a child! I don't need you or Sherlock pointing out how stupid and helpless I am!"

Mycroft's eyes grew wide. He froze. "You...feel as though I view you as helpless."

Greg crossed his arms and looked away. "You got bodyguards for me," he mumbled.

"I did." Mycroft stepped closer, taking Greg's hands in his. "You are... invaluable to me," he whispered. "I could not lose you. I cannot lose you. I adore you, Gregory."

"Oh, love...come here." Greg held him close and ran soothing circles on his back. "I adore you too," he murmured, and kissed his neck. "So much."

"Furthermore, I do not trust the fellow officers in your department." Mycroft took a deep breath. "I worry for you, my dear."

"I'm sorry, love. Should have told you everything. No more secrets from now on, I swear it." Greg hugged his boyfriend and grinned. "Our first fight. I don't count the Leo misunderstanding."

"That was indeed a fiasco." Mycroft sighed again and kissed Greg's forehead. "Come, my darling. Let us go back inside and prepare for the arrival of the others."

Greg smiled. "Is that why you got a cleaning crew? So Sherlock won't figure out where we've shagged?"

Mycroft chuckled and nuzzled against him. "You are quite astute, my dear."

×××××××××××

"We're back!" Martha entered with the teens, all clutching bags except Sherlock, who was texting furiously. "Oh, and welcome home, Mycroft!"

"Are you dressed?" Sherlock snapped, keeping his eyes on his phone. 

"I am, brother mine, as is Gregory." 

"You must be Sherlock's brother." Molly was noticeably blushing as she took in the tall, handsome man before her. Greg smirked. Couldn't blame her, really. My looked _delicious_ in those trousers. 

Hell, in anything. Or nothing. Especially nothing...

"Stop that, Lestrade! I'll not have you drooling all over yourself as you gaze upon my corpulent brother." Sherlock eyed him with disgust. "Ugh. You shall refurbish the walls of your bedroom to make them sound proof. I demand it!"

"Of course you do." Greg gestured to Molly and John's bags. "Souvenirs?"

"Books, mostly." Molly was still blushing. "John got a sweatshirt. Martha found a cookbook."

"Nothing for you, Sherlock?"

The boy grunted. "I shall soon have my own lab with specimens... Mycroft. We will discuss plans."

"Perhaps after dinner, Sherlock." Mycroft ignored his brother's snort and raised an eyebrow at John. "You must be John Watson."

John was about to reply when Sherlock eyed the dinner table with disgust. "Ugh! Tell me the two of you did not..."

"So!" Martha clapped her hands. "Upstairs with all of you. I have dinner to make. Molly and John, I hope you can stay!"

"Yes, let us go where my brother did not subject Lestrade to his nudity. My room is safe." Sherlock scoffed. "Though we must keep the door ajar. Gavin...that is, Greg has an unhealthy fixation on closed ones."

×××××××××××

"Molly is a bit keen on you," Greg mumbled into Mycroft's chest as he cuddled closer. "Can't blame her."

Mycroft chuckled and continued stroking Greg's hair. "My darling, you are being amusing."

"M'serious. She's gonna have a crush on both Holmes brothers." Greg sighed and gently rubbed Mycroft's stomach. "What do you think of John?"

"Hmm. Tempestuous. Dislikes his older sister. Familial history of serving Her Majesty..."

Greg giggled. "No, I meant...do you like him? Any positive traits that you see? Do you approve, is what I'm asking."

"Ah. Well, then. John Watson is inquisitive. Loyal. Strong. Capable of...many things. I see the same traits in my brother. They suit each other well."

Greg smiled and hugged him again. "Like us, I suppose."

Mycroft kissed the top of his head. "I may be biased, my dear, but I find us to be more romantically suited than anyone I know."

"Sweet." Greg nuzzled into him and sighed.

"Ugh! Disgusting!"

Greg snorted. He kept his eyes closed, still hugging Mycroft. "Hi, Sherlock."

"You are to cease this at once. Disengage from each other and look over my notes for my lab."

"No," Greg mumbled. "In our room. We do what we want. Go 'way."

Sherlock scoffed. "Very well. If you are cohabitating, then I shall take the Rose Bedchamber for myself..."

"You shall not," Mycroft intoned.

"Then John Watson shall!"

Greg's eyes flew open. "What?"


	23. Chapter 23

"What the hell?" Greg sat up, staring incredulously at the scowling teen. Mycroft merely gaped at his younger brother. 

Sherlock scoffed. "I spoke very clearly just now. Henceforth, John Watson shall occupy the Rose Bedchamber."

Greg shook his head. "Why in the bloody hell would your friend - your _new_ friend, I might add - move into your home?"

"Where is John Watson now?" Mycroft asked carefully, sitting up as well. 

Sherlock waved his hand and slowly entered the room. "He and Molly are currently listening to what Cook refers to as "music" in her cottage. You were not informed as we assumed you were engaged in coitus."

"Christ." Greg rubbed his forehead. A headache was forming. "Okay, did John ask you if he could move in? If he did, he might have been joking, Sherlock."

The teen sighed and draped himself on a nearby settee. "He suggested no such thing. His home life is unsuitable. The death of his mother has left his father in a despondent stupor, while his older sister is often absent or imbibing copious amounts of alcohol."

"Unsuitable?" Greg frowned. "Okay, there are resources available for this sort of thing, but I'll need to talk to John myself first."

"Unnecessary." Mycroft tutted, smoothing the sleeves of his shirt. "Oh, dear brother. Must you exaggerate so?"

Sherlock glared. "I would not classify my data as exaggerating, Mycroft."

"No?" Mycroft preened a bit. "Well, here is what _I_ know of John Watson. His father, who indeed is grieving the loss of his wife, maintains a modest salary whilst serving as a general practitioner in the Ministry of Defense. His oldest daughter is fond of "clubbing", and while her consumption of alcohol is slightly above average for her age, it has not yet reached the stage that would cause alarm."

"How _dare_ you trivialize John's home life!" Sherlock shouted, and slammed his fist into the settee. "Your newfound lust is turning you into an imbecile, and it is disgusting!"

Mycroft seethed. "Do _not_ speak to me in such a manner! You will apologize!"

"Never!" 

"Okay, enough." Greg got out of the bed and stood in between the brothers. "Sherlock, why do you want John to move in? First off, he has a home..."

"An unsuitable one!" Sherlock protested, his eyes wide and furious.

"And how well do you know John?" Greg continued, keeping his voice calm. "What makes you think..."

" _You_ live here now!" Sherlock leapt to his feet. "How is this different?"

Greg sighed. "I am staying here temporarily, Sherlock. I still have my flat. And my situation is different. From what your brother says, John is not in danger."

"Nonetheless!" Sherlock began to pace. "If this may be temporary refuge for you, why not for John? You are both being unreasonable!"

"This is our home," Mycroft sneered. "Not an accommodation for asylum."

Sherlock stopped, staring down his brother for what seemed like ages. "Do remain dressed when you come down for dinner," he snapped, and left.

Greg stared after him. "Christ. He's...really taken with John."

"It appears so." Mycroft sighed. "I might have a talk with Watson. Ensure he's a good influence for Sherlock."

"Seems like a good kid." Greg noticed Mycroft fidgeting with his ring and crawled back into bed. "Hey, beautiful, don't worry about it. I'll talk to him. I'll talk to both of them."

Mycroft scoffed. "Gregory, be serious. These monikers of yours..."

"What, you don't think you're beautiful? You're wrong. Utterly gorgeous and wrong." Greg kissed him and settled back against him. "Mmm. I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"On the contrary. This is quite lovely." Mycroft's fingers stroked Greg's hair, slow and gentle caresses. "Perhaps my brother sees how happy we are and wishes to secure a partner for himself. He can sometimes be rather jealous."

Greg reassuringly rubbed his stomach. "He'll be fine." He looked up, curious. "How do you know so much about John?"

Mycroft smiled. "I confess I did a bit of research when you first mentioned him as one of Sherlock's new friends. The rest was deduced. For example, I determined the habits of John's sister by observing how he -"

"Don't." Greg waved his hand and laughed. "It'll just make me feel like an idiot."

"Which you are not." 

"Nonetheless." Greg moved to settle in closer but then his phone chimed, something familiar. 

An incoming call, a chime used for an old contact. 

"Diane?"

Mycroft's hand stilled. "Your former girlfriend is calling you?"

"Apparently." Greg hugged Mycroft close, wanting to reassure him. "Not answering it. Don't care what she wants."

The calls ended, and his phone buzzed, announcing a new text. 

They lay in silence, Mycroft's fingers slowly stroking Greg's hair. "You wish to alleviate your curiosity," he murmured. 

"I'm just wondering what the hell she wants," Greg confessed, and rubbed his lover's stomach. "Any ideas?"

Mycroft chuckled. "Darling..."

"What? You bloody know everything."

"I assure you that I do not."

"Mmm." Greg kissed his neck and sat up. "Hold on." He got out of the bed to retrieve his phone, then settled back on top of his boyfriend, angling the phone so they could both see it. 

"...Gregory."

"Mmm?" 

Mycroft kissed his forehead. "My darling, you don't have to include me in this viewing."

Greg shrugged. "No secrets." He swiped to his new messages and brought up Diane's.

**Greg, I found a few of your things in my flat. I want to return them. I'm free next Saturday, we can meet in front of the Red Rose Park. Does noon work for you?**

He snorted. "Ah, she can keep them."

Mycroft tutted. "They may be sentimental items, my dear."

"I'm not exactly dying to see her." Greg shrugged. "I'll think on it."

Loud laughter echoed up from downstairs. Greg welcomed the distraction. "Sounds like the gang is back. Let's get down there before Sherlock has Molly moving in too."

Mycroft seemed to pause. "Yes... I do think that would be best."

×××××××××××

"We should go to the poison gardens," John was saying as they got downstairs. The four of them were in the kitchen, with Martha placing a pie in the oven.

"Oh, I know that one!" Molly grinned. "In Alnwick Garden."

"Commissioned by the Duchess of Northumberland," Sherlock intoned. "I shall arrange a visit. I will use it as inspiration for a garden near my laboratory."

"You'll not be growing poisonous plants near our home," Mycroft responded as he entered the room. 

Sherlock whirled around, clearly ready to say something awful, and Greg suddenly remembered something. "Hey, Sherlock, did you ever get to update your site with those observations we talked about?" He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "For access to the morgue. Remember our agreement?"

The boy clearly fought a smile. "Yes," he murmured. "And I expect fresh specimens."

Greg made a show of checking that Mycroft was not listening - and indeed he wasn't, as he was speaking with John - and nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Um, excuse me." Molly smiled shyly. "Martha invited me to stay for dinner, but I must be going. My parents are expecting me to help with my cousin's birthday party, which is next week, and..."

"We'll get a driver to take you home," Sherlock interrupted, waving his hand. 

"Um, thank you. It was fun today, wasn't it?" Molly smiled brightly at Sherlock. "I very much liked the exhibits."

"Mmm." Sherlock watched John speaking to Mycroft, frowning and clearly not listening to Molly. 

Greg resisted the urge to flick his ear. "Well, it sounds like fun. We should all meet up again, maybe for a trip to the poison garden like John was mentioning."

"Ugh." Sherlock scowled. "Neither of you shall join us. Do you think I wish to see you and my brother paw at each other? Disgusting. I would sample every leaf and flower on display if I saw such disgusting sights."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Lovely. Well...let's get that driver called, yeah? John should call home too...don't want worrying parents, do we? Got to keep our Mums and Dads happy."

A flash of pain crossed Sherlock's expression, then vanished. Greg mentally kicked himself. _Fuck. He's an orphan, Lestrade._

The pain of the Holmes parents' death still hung in the air around the manor. An absence was felt, and was reflected in the actions of the people left. Mycroft, of course, was protective of his brother, and Sherlock was constantly fighting for attention and recognition. Martha wanted to care for them both. They'd all taken in Greg like family. 

They craved family, that closeness.

It made Greg want to protect them as well.

Mycroft looked to be finished speaking with John and headed toward the study, glancing at Greg. John remained where he was in the kitchen, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. Something was clearly bothering the boy.

Greg followed Mycroft, reaching for his arm when they were alone. "Hey. What happened with John?" 

Mycroft smiled, nearly preening. "He is indeed a worthy companion to my brother. A young man of action. Drawn to adventure, curious in nature."

"Okay...then why does he look upset?"

"He did not take my offer."

"Offer of what?"

Mycroft sighed. "I provided an opportunity for him to earn a small sum for providing information on Sherlock's regular activities. He declined. His loyalty is both profound and swift."

Greg's jaw dropped. He fought an instinct to take a step back. "You...bribed him?"

"Attempted to, yes." Mycroft smirked. "And he declined, most vociferously."

Nausea and dread gripped Greg's stomach, but then he paused. "Wait...this was a test?"

Mycroft's smirk faded. "Gregory. Look around you."

"Yeah, this is a manor, you're bloody rich. I get it."

"Do you?" Mycroft gestured at himself. "I am aware of how my family's wealth is alluring to others. Sherlock is as well, but my brother is not well versed in the intricacies of societal workings."

"He doesn't seem sheltered."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "My brother is unique."

"As are you! What do you -"

"This is not the first time Sherlock has found acquaintances. This is the first time they have shown genuine loyalty and affection for him." Mycroft's lips pursed, and he narrowed his eyes.

Greg took this in. "Jesus. You mean, in the past...other kids agreed to your arrangement?"

"Yes." Mycroft's mouth curled in disgust.

"Fuck." Greg felt a chill. No wonder Sherlock was so hesitant to get close to people. "What about Molly?"

Mycroft huffed. "Her family is financially secure. Also, her... intentions toward my brother are clear."

Greg managed a smile. "The same could be said for John. There's something between them." He coughed. "Er. I'm guessing Sherlock knows...does he have access to, um, supplies?"

"Supplies?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "He has been pestering me for a new microscope. Did he mention that to you?"

"N-no, I mean...ah. Protection." Greg smirked. "I guess he knows he could get them from you. We've certainly been using them."

Mycroft frowned, but then his eyes grew wide. "Oh. Well. Yes."

"Mycroft!"

Sherlock's shout made Mycroft jump a bit. He exhaled and settled himself, smoothing his shirt and muttering an apology before heading back to the kitchen. 

Greg was about to join him when his phone buzzed again. A new text. 

It was from Diane.

**I also want to apologise in person. Things ended badly between us and I feel terrible about it.**

_Odd._ Diane wasn't much for apologies, and didn't seem regretful the night he called to confront her. She'd blamed him for it, his long working nights. 

It wasn't worth thinking about. Not now.

He pocketed his phone, and headed to the kitchen.


End file.
